


Those of Dark Pasts

by LiciForShort



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls I: Arena, Elder Scrolls II: Daggerfall, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Confusion, Contemplation, Difficult Decisions, Edit of Previous Work, Explicit Language, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff and Smut, Fun, Funny, Guilt, Hot, I'm Bad At Tagging, Immense Sorrow, Love, My First Fanfic, Sass, Smut, The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - Freeform, haha - Freeform, lol, more smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiciForShort/pseuds/LiciForShort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliciana finds herself madly in love with her "white knight", Ralof. After all, he offered her comfort in the moments before her impending death. But is it possible for her to be equally infatuated with another? She must choose between her savior and her downfall. Or must she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ride

**Author's Note:**

> This is an edit of my first ever fanfic, and I am super excited to be writing it. I added in so many details that it would have been a hassle to paste it all into the original work, so I decided to just make a new one under the same name.  
> I would love it if you would comment and let me know how I can improve! Kudos would be appreciated because, hey, who doesn't need a little confidence booster every now and then?  
> Enjoy!  
> Lici

        I was not pleased to have been caught pickpocketing again. I knew that the Ivarstead guards had taken note of me, but to follow me around the town and stalk me from every corner? It was absurd! And now they had loaded me roughly into a shoddy, splintering wagon, hardly fit to carry livestock. I didn't know for sure where they were taking me, but I could easily assume it was nowhere good.

       There were three other passengers in the cart with me, all with the same glum, dejected look on their face. None of them really looked like criminals to me-- maybe I was just biased, having grown up with bandits and thieves.

        We were all Nords-- except the scrawny man sitting diagonally to my right. He was an Imperial. The wagon creaked and shuddered with each bump and turn, and the clomping of the horses hooves ahead were driving me insane. Not to mention, the rough looking, blond Nord seated in front of me would not shut up for the life of him.

        I had tried to hint that I, a professionally trained thief and highly esteemed mage, was not interested in the ramblings of an extremely sentimental Stormcloak. Time and time again I had glared up at him, injecting as much venom into my piercing blue eyes as I could. But still, the man would. Not. Shut. Up.

        "So, where are you from, horse-thief?" Asked the man, directing the question towards the scrawny, mousy-haired lad next to him.

        "Why do you care?" Replied the thief, clearly annoyed at the man's rambling as well.

        "I just think a man's last thoughts should be of home..." The blond man's voice quavered.

        I guess the horse thief had no experience with being on Death Row, because his next comment was pretty comical.

        "What do you mean, his last thoughts? Are they going to execute us? Do you know something we don't?!" The horse thief's eyes grew wide, and his voice rose a few octaves.

        "Well, where did you think we were going? On a road trip 'cross the countryside?" The Nord chuckled dryly. "Hey, guard! Could you get me a mead?"

        "Shut up, scum," replied one of the guards, and the man laughed.

        The thief stared over the side of the wagon, stretching out his neck so as to get a better view of what lay beyond.

        "Rorikstead-- I'm from Rorikstead."

        I had to stifle a laugh-- he looked just like a pet skeever I had once had. What with his mop of matted hair, his over-large ears, and his squeaky voice, there really wasn't much of a difference between the two.

        "I was under the impression that they were taking us to Cidhna Mine in Markarth; you know, to work us to death," I interjected, lifting my bound hands to brush aside a few strands of raven-black hair that had escaped from my leather hood and blown down into my eyes.

        "Pfft-- right," said the Nord, "they're just going to send Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion and murderer of the High King, on his merry way to do as he pleases in Markarth of all places-- you know, to shout apart some other Jarl and take his place." He grimaced as he spoke those words, risking a glance at the man across and to his left.

        I hadn't noticed him-- his mouth was stuffed with a rag, and a gag was tied around his head. He hadn't moved an inch the whole ride. But now that I was looking, I could tell that yes, this was certainly Ulfric.

        How I hadn't noticed before, I did not know. But now I saw-- the brownish, gray streaked hair, the large, bulbous nose-- it had to be him.

        "Wait--" commented the horse thief, realizing at the same time as me, "they've caught Ulfric? That's wonderful! This will mean the end of the rebellion!  But... You and me, lady... we aren't rebels!  This must mean that we really are on our way to the execution..." He was close to tears. Apparently he was an Imperial to the heart.

        "Let me just say: Quite frankly, I don't give a damn what happens after we're dead-- what will it matter? Things will work out, they always do." I couldn't help it. My mother had always told me that speaking my mind was my greatest flaw, but my father had been the opposite. He had told me that I had a very special voice, and that I needed to speak for women across Tamriel, to fight for their equal treatment.

        "I guess you're right," said the blond Nord, "But should we not worry about our brothers and sisters? And what kind of world they're to live in when we depart?"

        "By the Nine-- are you seriously asking me that?" I looked up at him, stray strands falling in my face again. "Anyone and everyone I've ever cared for is dead, and soon enough, I will be, too."

        He seemed genuinely taken aback, and he looked at the ground of the cart.

        "I'm very sorry to hear that," replied the man, a thick accent suddenly cropping up out of nowhere. "I can't say the same for myself. My sister and her family live in Riverwood. I wish I could have said goodbye to her... Told her to fight against the Imperials..." I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The bastard was lucky. I had watched as my sister and family were raped, tortured, and then murdered. This Nord man had nothing to complain about.

        "Pfft..." Is all I could bring myself to say. I had thrown enough pity parties to last me a lifetime, and I wasn't about to go crying for a stranger on my deathbed.

        The Nord looked up at me sorrowfully, and I couldn't help but notice the color of his eyes. They were like mine-- almost white, with a deep blue ring around the icy irises, but there was a sweet, innocent glimmer in them that had never been present in mine. His hair, though filthy, suited him. It hung to his shoulders, and a braid was woven into one side. He had deep, chiseled cheekbones, not so hollow that he looked sickly, that were coated with blond stubble.

        Despite myself, I realized that this beefy, muscular man was not so hard on the eyes. But what was I thinking-- I couldn't go through this again. I was on my way to my execution, I couldn't be thinking about a man like this.

        "So... what's your name, girl?" He asked, that accent slightly lessening, but still clearly present.

        "Why do you care? You don't know me. And you never will, apparently, as we are both on our way to our executions."

        He scoffed.

        "I can tell you could use a friend; even if it is just for an hour or two. I'm Ralof, by the way."  There was a slight smile in his voice that tempted me, but with years of practice, I ignored the urge to smile back.

        "I'm Aliciana-- Lici for short. My parents called me Ana, but if you ever call me that I will never forgive you." I said it with a steely edge in my voice. I knew it sounded pathetic-- being hung up on a nickname-- but after they had died, I had never been able to let it go, and the nickname brought back too many memories. And the memories were my undoing.

        "Well, it's nice to meet you, Lici. I hope we can get better acquainted before we, erm, die." He held out his bound hands, clearly an invitation to shake. I accepted, and soon enough Ralof was rambling on once again.

        Nearly an hour later, we were approaching a city. Helgen. I had visited here with my father before, but only once. Apparently Ralof had grown up in the area.

        "I was once sweet on a girl from here," he said, nostalgia strong in his voice. "I wonder if Vilod still makes his special mead with the juniper berries mixed in..." I knew I shouldn't interrupt his thoughts of home, but now I could see the chopping block looming up in the distance, and I realized just how much I did not want to die.

        "Ralof," I said, touching his bound hands with mine, "maybe if we hurry we can break out; get Ulfric out of here!" Desperation was thick in my voice.

        "Lici, I think it's too late for that. If only..." He was cut off by the wagon thumping to a halt, the irritating _clomp clomp_ of the steeds ceasing as well. My eyes widened, as I knew what was bound to happen next. _Maybe I should run_ , I thought, the idea spreading through my mind like a virus.

 _Yeah, I'll just wait until they're not looking and sprint like a madwoman_!

        At that moment, the horse thief jumped off of the wagon, yelling something about how he "wasn't a rebel, and wouldn't die like this". One of the guards promptly readied an arrow, aimed for the thief's back, and released.

        I may have been a thief myself, but I wasn't a killer. So to see, once again, another human go down by the means of someone else tore me apart.

        The thief fell in the dusty road, but not before crying out in sheer agony. He now lay face down in the dirt, writhing in pain, a crimson pool spreading beneath his quickly cooling body. I could practically see the life drain out of him as I stared in horror; I was too horrified to watch, but too appalled to peel my eyes away. I was sure tears were welling up in my eyes, and I tried to blink them away, but those pesky things would not disappear.

        Ralof must have seen me staring and guessed how I was feeling, because he promptly turned my face away from the corpse with his calloused hands, and goosebumps spread across my arms and back. He looked me in the eye and said, "Those of us who have seen death in its worst form may not be able to withstand it. There is no shame in that."

        Once again, my eyes brimmed with tears. What happened to the hardened shell of a woman I once was?


	2. Ploy of a Thief

The guards roughly unloaded us, making sure to jostle us along the way. They laughed and made fun of Ulfric, prompting a "shut your fucking mouth" from Ralof. One guard did not hesitate to hit him over the head with the base of his axe, and Ralof nearly collapsed with the pain of it.

"How about you shut your fucking mouth, Nord?" The guard retorted.  
Ralof was on his knees, struggling to stand. His straw colored hair was now matted with blood, and I could tell that a portion of his scalp had been split nearly to the bone. I rushed over to him, helping him up the best I could with my tied hands, pulling him to his feet and trying to calm his obvious rage.

"Ralof, you saw what they did to the thief. Don't die trying to honor Ulfric. I don't think I can face the last ten minutes of life alone again."

Ralof looked touched. He apologized, but said he couldn't stand the "filthy Imperials" dishonoring his leader.  
"Ulfric deserves to be honored, not tormented, even if it is his last hour."

We were marched towards the chopping block, and I could see the shady executioner. He was wearing a guard's helmet that covered his entire head, and his dark clothing was splattered with blood. He shifted uncomfortably in the hot sun, his dark clothes absorbing and radiating the heat like a furnace. His huge axe was twisting around in his hands, and I could see the glistening spots where his sweaty palms had been.  
The female Imperial who seemed to be in charge called up the first criminal. I watched as he was bent over the block, his head positioned over the basket that would soon catch it. The man's eyes were filled with tears.

I forced myself to look away, but I still heard the sickening thunk as the man was decapitated, and a nauseating squish as the raw meat of his neck made impact with the basket. I was next.

A tall, slender man wearing leather imperial armor asked my name. He had a list in his hand, and I knew that my name probably wasn't on it.

"Aliciana Maevnis," I told the man, drawing back my Thieves Guild Hood to reveal my raven black hair. I looked up at him with my icy gaze, trying my very best to intimidate him. "And 200 gold says my name isn't on your damn list."

The man's eyes widened. "You're right-- only the four men are on here..." He looked up at the Imperial woman, the question clear in his eyes.

"Just do it anyways, Hadvar," said the woman, "she's obviously a member of the Guild."

Hadvar looked resentful toward the woman, but agreed to her orders none the less.

Injecting as much spite and resentment into my voice as I physically could, I looked up at Hadvar with a tremendous amount of pain in my eyes.

"Just remember, Hadvar, you may be killing a thief, but I have never stolen out of greed. Everything I have done thus far in my life has been to survive. And now you're taking that from me." 

I could see his head hang as I walked toward the block; my play on his apparent feelings had worked. I may have had to lie, but seeing his indignation at my death was almost as satisfying as finding a particularly pricy piece of loot in an unguarded home.

The executioner thrust my head onto the sticky, blood covered block, and I found myself eye to eye with the head of the man who had been killed before me. I closed my eyes and thought of home, as Ralof had suggested, as the man raised his axe.

I exhaled, bidding the world goodbye, as a loud, screeching roar echoed through the sky.

I expected the Imperial woman to order the executioner to go on, but she didn't. In fact, after a few moments of lying there with my eyes squeezed shut, I didn't hear any voices.

I did, however, feel a strong hand on my shoulder, pulling me up to my feet. My eyes flew open, and I realized it was Ralof. Somehow his binds had come untied.

He quickly cut mine off with a dagger he had probably taken from a corpse somewhere. In a matter of minutes the sky had turned red; fire and heat surging from every direction.

"What's going on?" I asked, confusion and fear rising in my voice.

"I don't know--it's a dragon, I think..." He replied, that thick Nord accent showing in his voice again. He caught my eyes, and I could see the raw terror haunting them.

"A dragon?! It isn't possible!" My jaw dropped and my eyes grew wide, but I knew it must be true as I looked around the once beautiful city of Helgen. The thick walled, stone buildings had crumbled and fallen, and anything made of wood had burst into flames. Bodies littered the street, all of them burnt beyond recognition.

Once again, that rumbling screech filled the skies, and I saw the massive beast nearing us.  
"Follow me!" Yelled Ralof, pulling me by the hand toward a large, round building.

Four Hours Later

Somehow we managed to get to Riverwood, to stay with Ralof's sister, Gerdur. We decided to leave for Whiterun in the morning, to inform the Jarl of the imminent danger to Riverwood. But tonight we would rest, and we would recover our strength for the journey.

Gerdur was a very kind woman; she welcomed me with open arms, not even asking why I had been captured and taken to my death. She offered to let me stay with her, and said that Ralof and I should lay low for a while, so not to be caught by the guards and put back in the situation from which we had just escaped.

We weren't allowed to stay at the inn, for fear of being recognized by its inhabitants, but Gerdur only had one spare room in her home, so Ralof and I had to share. At least he had bathed, and no longer smelled like some sort of filthy, wild animal.

To be honest, I didn't know what to expect. He had saved my life; comforted me before my death... But I didn't know what kind of man he was. If he was anything like the men of the Guild... then I was into a lot of trouble. But he seemed different... more respectful.

I had bathed as well, and my hair hung in dripping strands that reached more than three quarters of the way down my back. I had bruises near my hips, where the armor was too small for my curvy figure, and cuts where the hard leather bit into my neck. I was nervous, sitting there on the bed in a thin white dress and (don't ask why...) corset, wondering what the blond Nord would do when he arrived.

I propped myself up on a pillow, waiting. Half of me wanted him to make a move, but the other half told me that I hardly knew him, and to slow down my emotions. Yet despite my other half, I found myself arranging my hair in seductive waves, shifting my legs on the covers and folding my arms behind my head. I knew I must have resembled something of a prostitute, but you know what they say: lust overrides logic.

He stared at me when he came into the small room, a look of inquisition and discomfort on his face as he assessed his options.

"Erm, Lis... I don't know about this."

"About what?" I asked, slightly embarrassed for my strange and erotic behavior, but trying to pass it off still.

He looked at me, crooking one eyebrow, and my heart fluttered. He was so brawny and handsome, unlike the rest of the men in Skyrim.

"I'm sorry..." I said, snapping out of my trance. "I just didn't know what to expect. I guess you really are as respectable as I thought you were." I chuckled, combing my hair out of my face and pressing my thighs back together.

"And I guess you aren't as innocent as I had assumed, either," he retorted. "I should've known... what with the Guild armor."

So apparently I wasn't the only one aware of the Guild's tendencies towards whorishness.

I punched him lightly on the arm. "Well, if you absolutely must bring that up, I've never voluntarily... You know..." My face turned crimson. What was I saying? Why would I be relaying this to a near stranger?

"Never mind. You don't need to know."

Ralof laughed. "I think I know where you were going with that," he said, putting his arms behind his head and stretching out on his half of the bed. He had brought two bottles of Alto wine with him, and he handed one to me.

"Might need these to get through the night," he said, ripping the cork out of his bottle with his teeth and taking a swig.

I did the same, grateful for a relief from the tension of the day.

Ralof and I talked for hours, each of us finishing our bottles of wine and hunting down seconds. By the end of the night I felt like I knew everything there was to know about him, but he couldn't say the same about me. I still refused to tell him any details about my past; the people I had known, what had become of them. Eventually he gave up on asking, and I just listened to him drunkenly ramble on about his childhood.

He told me about his parents, family, friends-- even his first time having sex. He could not stop laughing as he explicitly described it to me, labeling the woman as "nothing but a horker and a whore". He had met her in Whiterun, while purchasing a strange artifact for Lucan Valerius, back long before Lucan had started the Trader.

He told me how she had had the widest hips he had ever seen on a woman, and the chubbiest arse, and he had taken pleasure in pounding it 'til she screamed.

I didn't particularly enjoy listening to him talking about how wonderful his "first time" had been; I was just wishing I could say the same. My first time had consisted of blood, knives, and bandits, and was easily considered rape. I had been only 13.

When I found my thoughts drifting to this, I could only think of one way to cut it short. I leaned over the bed, catching Ralof mid word, and pressed my lips against his. He was shocked, and for a moment didn't even register what was happening, but he soon realized that he was about to have his first opportunity since Miss Whore-ker, and kissed me back. His hands tangled in my hair, and he struggled to find the strings that would unlace my corset.

I could tell that he was no expert in the realm of romance, as his hands kind of just flailed around whilst holding the strings of my corset, trying desperately to find the angle that would set them free. He was trying to give me his tongue, but that consisted of him thrusting his tongue into my mouth and just sort of swirling it around. I resisted the urge to laugh, and tried to guide him with my own tongue, but he resisted. The damned stubborn man.

I took this as an opportunity to pull off his tan miner's shirt. I was slightly terrified of what I would find beneath it-- was he secretly as hairy as a Frostbite Spider?-- but I was also excited to finally be bedding someone of my own accord.

His teeth cut into my lips as he pulled me closer, and the stubble of his beard felt like a wire brush, but I was so madly drunk and lust-driven that I did not notice.

My hands found the tattered bottom of his shirt, and I began to lift it off gingerly, peeking at the skin beneath.

Nope, no spider-man. Lucky me.

I ripped the shirt off the rest of the way just as he finally managed to undo my corset. He was very muscular; his back was tense beneath my exploring hands, but I could feel the muscles flexing and rippling under my fingers. His pectorals were nearly larger than mine (as I had always been rather flat-chested), and his abdomen was rigid and chiseled. He looked as though he might have been a God in a past life.

He lifted my dress off over my head, tossing it onto the ground near the foot of the bed, and I straddled him. I could feel his erection through his leather pants, but I needed more. I needed to feel him, experience the pleasure of voluntary penetration. I needed this to help me forget my past.

My hands fidgeted with his belt buckle; it was soon gone as well, and I reached down to pull off his pants.

There must have been a strange fire in my eyes, because he gave me an odd look and caught my hand in his, an inch or two before my hand would have reached his waistband.

"Li, just wait. You hardly know me. I can tell you don't want me, you just want my sex. I can also see that you're no whore-- you're just drunk and tired. Go to sleep. We can forget this ever happened."

I looked up at him, the passion burning out of my eyes.

He was right.

Completely and utterly right.

I pulled my hands back gingerly, lifting my left leg off of his right and rolling back onto my side of the bed. I felt like crying-- I was embarrassed, ashamed, and a little repulsed with myself for my behavior.

"Thank you, Ralof. You know I wouldn't have stopped." A tear leaked from the corner of my eye, and I wiped it away.

"Eh, it's nothing. Guess I just need to make sure you don't drink any wine before bed; especially while we're staying with Gerdur." He laughed, and so did I, and for a strange moment it felt like nothing had happened between us.

"We should sleep-- we need our strength to make the journey to Whiterun tomorrow morning." I yawned and looked around, searching for my dress.

"You're right." He rolled over, about to blow out the candle. He must have forgotten about the prospect of his own clothing.

"You know, I think you deserve an award."

"Why's that?" I asked, chuckling softly.

"You're the first woman I've met that hasn't left me immediately after an awkward sex interference..." He smiled at me, and I tried not to swoon at his beautiful face. 

"Not to mention, you didn't even bring up the fact that I'm a terrible kisser!" He reached out to wipe a bit of blood from my bottom lip.

"Well, according solely to your corset un-lacing abilities, I would be willing to venture that I'm the only girl you've made it this far with; that is, besides Miss Whore-ker."

His pale eyes lit up at that last comment, and I had to resist the urge to kiss him again. I licked my lips, as they had gone completely dry, and tasted a good amount of salty, iron-laden blood. I touched my sliced lip, and it stung like a bee.

"By the Nine, Ralof-- you really are a terrible kisser!"


	3. Dark Memories

Seven weeks later we were sitting outside the ruins of the Western Watchtower; me, trying to hide my terror, and Ralof not even caring to disguise his pride. Irileth had left; returned to Jarl Balgruuf to relay the news. I knew he'd be waiting for me, but sitting here, staring into the sunset with Ralof was nice. Being alone with Ralof in general was nice.

He put his muscular arm around me, and said, "I knew there was something different about you. A strong, independent woman like you, with the thieving skills of a God..." He smiled, rubbing my shoulder. "Bet you're glad I saved you from Helgen now, huh?"

I laughed, leaning into his side. I tried not to look at the dragon corpse, and to ignore the power that was suddenly flowing through my veins.

"You bet I am. But you can't leave me yet. You still have to help me get to Riften, at least until I harness my power enough to handle myself." My blue eyes were pleading.

"Why the hell would you want to go to Riften?" He asked, clearly questioning my judgment. "It's a hellhole."

"It's kind of why I came to Skyrim in the first place," I responded, flicking a strand of hair out of my face and glancing up at him, locking him in my icy gaze.

"I'd wondered. You have the accent of an Imperial, though the blood of a Nord... It's just difficult to ask you questions like that when you refuse to answer anything about your past."

"Well, I'm sorry. You'll just have to wait and listen to the stories when I'm good and ready to tell them. As for this one, I think I am ready."

He turned towards me, propping one fist under his chin and making an adorable face that had me yearning for him all over again. He was mocking me, but I didn't care. His cute and playful sarcasm had me caught in his trap.

"Well, you've obviously seen my Guild armor, so you know I'm a part of that. But you probably didn't know that was born in Cyrodiil, of two good Nords Alekfr and Myrie Maevnis. They were the most kind and sincere people I had ever known-- a lot like you, in fact. Considerate and sweet, and always putting others ahead of themselves." I paused, and he smiled.

"Thanks, Li." He motioned for me to go on.

"One day I came home from the market to find our home reduced to ashes. My father and brothers had been burned, but the bandits responsible had kept my mother and sister as captives. Trophies. I came home just as they were being raped-- they were screaming loud enough that I had heard them from the valley that marked the half way point between my home and the market. " The smile melted off of Ralof's face, and he put his hand on my neck and pulled me closer.

"I had only a dagger and a few lockpicks; and I was only eleven years old. I had been sprinting since the halfway point, able to see the thick smoke rising from my home and to hear the screams of my family echoing across the valley. When I arrived, exhausted, I somehow managed to jump on the back of the bandit who'd been busy with my 7 year old sister, Cyndia, and I stabbed him repeatedly in the throat. According to my psychotic neighbor Astrid, if stabbed in the throat, the victim found it nearly impossible to scream.

"Upon the bandit's death, I lifted Cyndia up and tried to take her pulse. According to my senses, she was already dead. She was covered in blood, and the brand new dress my mother had sewn her was torn to shreds. I closed her eyes and moved on." Ralof could feel my immense sorrow, and he hugged me tighter yet to him.

"I had tried not to cry as I approached my mother and her captor. I was lucky; the rest of the bandit clan was picking through the ashes of my home, searching for anything that had survived the fire. I could see that the man was holding my mother from behind, with one arm curved Around her throat. He was carving deep gashes into mother's skin with his knife, and she was weakly pushing away his hand. I could see tears on her face, and each time she pushed him away, he hit her in the jaw. I readied my dagger to go in for the kill, but a hand clasped over my mouth as I approached, pulling me backwards and away from the bandits.

"It was Astrid, the neighbor I told you about earlier. Her parents had once worked for the Dark Brotherhood, but had left to raise their small family in the country. Astrid was a few years older than me, probably 14 or 15, and she terrified me beyond reason. 'Shhhh,' she had said, dragging me away from the bandits and towards the thick copse of trees that had grown behind our house. Once we were safe in the cover of the trees, she spun me around and said, 'What in Oblivion were you thinking?' She slapped me, and I knew that I had to get away from her before she killed me. Astrid had always been a strange girl-- quirky in a dark and intimidating way. She had, as a child, vivisected small forest creatures to see their inner workings, and her parents had only encouraged it.

"As I was gearing up to run from Astrid, I heard the bandit that had been preoccupied with my mother walking towards us. I tried to warn her, but she already seemed to know. Astrid had already melted into the shadows when the bandit reached the trees and saw me. There was nowhere I could run."

Ralof looked at me and sighed. "What happened after that?"

"They took me-- kept me for years. They had learned from my sister that young children weren't strong enough for their sort of 'fun', so they let me 'ripen', as they put it. I was their pet. Their animal. I had no feelings, no value-- I was just a dog to them. That is, until I turned 13 and one of the men decided it had been long enough. It was the same man I had seen with my mother. His name was Yronthor.   
"He would beat me and beat me before I 'came of age', and even after. I was his toy; his favorite plaything. He used me-- molested me-- nearly twice a week, sometimes more. But never classifiable as rape. 

"That is, until one day three weeks before my fourteenth birthday. Yronthor got impatient. He dragged me into a small room in the Dwemer ruin where the camp was set up and bashed my head against the solid stone wall. He told me that if I didn't do exactly what he said, he would kill me, slowly and painfully. 'Like your father', he had said.

"To be honest, Ralof, I don't know what was going through my mind at that time. I should've fought back, but I didn't. I just sat there and let him fuck me. I don't know why I didn't just kill him then and there." My face was covered in tears now, and Ralof pulled my head against his chest. 

"You don't have to go on, Li, if you don't want to. I think I get the idea." I nodded, mumbling my thanks through stifled sobs. 

"I joined the Guild in Cyrodiil soon after I escaped, but not before killing and dismembering each one of those sick bandit bastards. Myramor, the Guildmaster in Cyrodiil, had found me huddled near the road, just outside of the camp, covered in the blood of the people who had killed my family and nearly killed me. He took me in and raised me, taking the place of my dead father.

"He sent me here to inform the Riften Guild of the dwindling resources back in Cyrodiil, and to ask them for help. Don't know why Myramor didn't just come himself." Ralof shifted uncomfortably on the stone chunk he was precariously positioned on. 

"I am so, so sorry... If you had only told me, I never would have gone on as I did in Riverwood... I shouldn't have gotten you drunk and coaxed you-"

"Ralof, stop. That wasn't your fault. You didn't make me kiss you. That was my choice. You're the one who stopped it, and I thank you for that."

"Listen, Li, about that night in Riverwood. I just need to know something." 

"Ralof, I was drunk, and so were you, and we just happened to be sharing a bed. That's all there really was to it." I tried to hide the quaver in my voice, and calm the rising heat in my cheeks. 

"Aliciana, I need to know if there was any emotional connection behind that, or if it really was just the alcohol." His accent seemed to thicken each time he put emotion behind his words. 

"Does it matter? I mean, we're fine now..." I said, slightly angry at Ralof for bringing it up in such detail.. 

"Lici, please. Just give me a straight answer." 

"I... I don't know, Ralof! A lot has changed over the last couple of weeks, and my feelings are very... different now." 

"How so?" he asked, clearly getting annoyed at my dodgy answers. 

I made a descision then and there. To confide my feelings in him, and to see what he did with the information.

"Well, for example, I have trained my brain to stop yearning to kiss you every time you smile. And to ignore the pain in my chest when you talk about "Miss Whore-ker" and all your other girlfriends. I've made a deal with my mind to stop thinking about you at night, and to leave you alone when I wish I was with you. You tell me, Ralof, do I love you? ...Do you love me?" I knew instantly that I had crossed the line with that last bit, but it was too late now. Better just listen to his answer. 

His anger had slowly subsided as I spoke, and his head fell into his hands. He lifted it once I had finished, and looked into the windows of my soul. "Lici, If only you could understand... If only you knew just how I strongly I feel for you." I barely had time to meet his piercing gaze before his mouth was on mine. 

I touched his cheek gently, and pressed his head against mine with my other hand. I removed the hideous hide helmet that he had taken to wearing all the time, and "accidentally" threw it down into a crevice in the ground below. 

I saw his hair for the first time in a week, and realized that it had grown, but there was still that straw colored braid that I loved so much, weaved onto the side of his head. I wound my fingers into his hair again, pulling him closer to me. 

Our lips were moving in tandem (His kiss had definitely improved since last time), and I felt dizzy with the ecstasy of the moment. I had yearned for this since we had met, and there was no wine to get in the way this time.

With each breath, my desire for him grew, and soon enough we were both removing each others clothing as we had once before, and migrating to the inside of the destroyed building. Armor clanked onto the cold ground; leather and steel. I felt his tongue reaching into my mouth again, though it was not nearly as invasive this time as it had been before. I met the gesture with my own tongue, and soon enough we were nothing but a pile of sweaty flesh rolling on the flagstones of the ruined tower.

He was still so careful with me, as if I would break if he wasn't gentle. It was actually kind of frustrating; being in complete control of every move, every kiss, every word. We were both undressed in less than a minute, and our hands roamed freely over each other, mapping out uncharted territory. 

His calloused fingers traced the scars and bruises on my back, and his lips brushed over the places where my armor had cut into my skin. He fluttered kisses from my cheek down to my collarbone, and a rough hand gently clutched one of my breasts.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. He carefully pressed my back into the wall of the watchtower, and slowly pushed into me. 

A feeling of ecstasy erupted inside me, and I moaned, arcing my back as his rhythm slowly increased in frequency and pressure. My fingernails cut into his back and I pulled him closer, not wanting to let go. I moved my body with him, and I felt the hand that had been on my breast slip down and begin rubbing my clitoris.

I screamed with pleasure, and threw my head back, moaning softly with each thrust of his hips. The callouses on his large hands were slightly painful on my sensitive skin, but it only added to the heat of the moment and the tension relieved between us. 

I wrapped my arms around him tightly, hugging him to me as tightly as I could. The muscles in his back were taut, and with each movement they coiled and flexed beneath my arms. He tried to be as gentle with me as possible, and I silently urged him to go faster, harder.

His lips caressed the side of my neck and his hands slipped across my back, but he began to pull away. I figured why, but I held him closer, not concerned with the consequences of my actions. 

He looked me in the eyes as he grunted and his seed shot into me, and I arched my back with pleasure. My muscles tensed around him, and I had an orgasm of my own. 

I collapsed against him, breathing hard, and he pulled us both slowly down into the cold flagstones. After we had laid there for a moment catching our breath, he spoke. 

"I lied," he said, panting heavily and laughing. "I never had sex with the Whore-ker." 

I looked up at him, shocked. That was completely unexpected... 

"So does that mean that you were a..." virgin?! 

"Technically, yes. But that doesn't mean I've never had any action." He smiled, looking down at me with a crooked eyebrow. 

I laughed out loud, finding it hilarious that a man such as Ralof had been a 'virgin' so long.

"How is that even possible? A God of a man like you?" I touched the muscles of his bare stomach, tracing them with my fingertips, and admiring his sculpted form. 

"Guess I was just too busy with the war; I rarely saw any women when I was on duty. And when I did, they were too busy swooning over Ulfric to notice me. You, you're probably the first woman who hasn't asked me anything about Ulfric." I snorted, bursting into ecstatic laughter as I laid my head on his chest. 

"What's so funny?" He chuckled, brushing my lips with his rough fingers, coaxing a grin from me. 

"I'm surprised you got away with that lie in the first place. I should have guessed that you had no experience during our first tumble in Riverwood." 

Ralof wrapped his arms around me, stroking my back and sending shivers down my spine. 

"To be honest, I was hoping you'd make a move back in Riverwood; I would never have been the one. Women terrify me. I was just trying to butter you up with the wine. Guess that worked." 

I looked at him, a strange expression on my face of confusion and laughter. 

"If you wanted what happened in Riverwood, then why did you stop me?" It was a simple question, but his answer touched my heart.

"How could I ask something of you that I could see you would live to regret?"


	4. From Whiterun

The next morning, after getting dressed and washing up at a nearby stream, the two of us returned to Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. He was astonished when he heard how I had "absorbed the dragon's soul", and he thanked us for taking care of the threat before it reached the city. He told me that between helping his court wizard and killing the dragon, I had earned myself a place in the city as his Thane. He offered me property in Whiterun and my own personal housecarl, which I politely declined.

I told the Jarl of my plans to visit Riften, and he too warned me away. I didn't understand what could possibly be so bad about the city-- Myramor had told me that Riften was the most beautiful city he had ever had the pleasure of visiting. He had described it as "delicate and profitable", and a "perfect city for thieves". He had also told me that the scenery in the city was breathtaking-- all red leaved trees and intricate iron fencing, with a stunning view of a nearby lake.  
When I relayed all of that to Ralof, he laughed out loud.

"What's so funny about that?" I asked, slightly defensive of Myramor, as he had raised me after my parents died.

"Exactly how long ago did this Myramor guy visit Riften?" Is all he said.

"Uhm... I don't know. Maybe 10 or 15 years."

"Well, that would explain it," he replied, very unhelpfully.

"What's Riften like now?" I asked, getting angry with his tormenting evasiveness.

"Picture the darkest reaches of Oblivion. Now, add some dead trees, buildings, and a sewage-filled river running through the middle of it all. Toss in some skeevers, vampires, and thieves that will bleed you of all you own, and you've got a perfect picture of Riften."

I tried to imagine what Ralof had described, but I couldn't get the image of the beautiful place Myramor had sent me to out of my mind. I decided to mix the two together, and was disappointed at the result.

Before we left Whiterun, we stopped by War Maiden's to pick up some better armor. As much as I loved my Guild armor, I had had it since I was 17, and it no longer fit me how it should.

My favorite approach on sales was the classic, "Steal everything that isn't nailed down, then sell it to the shopkeeper and try not to laugh at their stupidity". I performed this very tactic on Adrianne Avenicci, Ralof posing as a stranger and would-be customer to cover for me. Unfortunately, most of her expensive merchandise was displayed right in front of her, where I couldn't get it without being caught.

I sold the blacksmith several folded skins that I had managed to recover from the dragon, and a few large bones that fetched a good amount of coin. I purchased two full sets of elven armor (I wouldn't have been able to afford them if I hadn't just emptied the blacksmith's strongbox) and an Orcish bow. Ralof was content with his warhammer, but I managed to convince him to at least take the armor.

After robbing the strongbox at the Inn, I treated Ralof and myself to a bottle each of Honningbrew mead and some sweetrolls. It was a strange breakfast, but it took the edge off of my hunger and calmed my nerves. Ralof informed me that Honningbrew Meadery was a major competitor of Black-Briar, and that the latter was supposedly the best mead in Skyrim. They were headquartered in Riften, and that gave Ralof one thing to look forward to.

I peered across the table at him, my fist propped up under my chin.

"I just had a thought..." I said, arching one of my eyebrows as I stared at him.

"And what's that?" He replied, a dimple appearing on his cheek as he tried to prevent a smile from cropping up.

"Well, neither one of us owns any property in Riften, and as far as I've heard, the Inn will be pretty full, what with all of the beggars and thieves..." I closed my eyes, stifling the laughter that was about to bubble out of me. I once again directed my gaze to him, and said, "What will we do?! Obviously it's going to be a repeat of the situation in Riverwood-- bottles and bottles of mead, and a shared bed."

He snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose as he laughed uncontrollably.  
"And that would be such a tragedy... Wouldn't it?"

I grinned and ruffled his hair, then walked to the door.

"We better go," I said as I opened it, waiting for Ralof. "Wouldn't want to be late..."

Ralof stood and came to my side, walking with me out to the street.

We were just reaching the gates when a small Bosmer man came running towards Ralof.

"I've been looking for you. Ralof, right?"

The Bosmer had a very strange voice, high pitched and quivering.

"Yes, that's me..." Ralof replied.

"Good. I have a special delivery for you-- your hands only. Let's see..." The courier fished through his messenger bag.

"Ah! Here it is. A letter from... Ulfric Stormcloak! Wow, you're making your way up in the world, aren't you?"

A feeling of dread washed over me at the mention of the name, sending shivers up my spine. Ralof took the letter, a look of immense sorrow and crushing fear crossing his features.

"Well, that'll be all! Good luck with the Jarl!" Said the courier, running off and disappearing into the crowd of people milling about on the streets of Whiterun.

Ralof unfolded the letter, slowly and painfully. His eyes widened and a small wrinkle appeared between his brows as he scanned the paper, his head falling in dismay as he finished.

He sat on an overturned barrel behind him and put his head in his hands. He had dropped the note, and I read it, my heart sinking into my stomach as the words registered in my head.

Ralof,  
I heard you've been in hiding with the Dragonborn. Your vacation is over. You are urgently needed on the battlefield, and I need you to return to me in Windhelm as quickly as possible. I have a commanding position ready for you.  
Send the Dovahkiin my regards.  
Signed Ulfric Stormcloak,  
Jarl of Windhelm


	5. Decisions

We had been walking along the cobblestone path outside of the city for an hour or two, but no words had passed between us. I didn't know what to say-- I didn't know anyone in all of Skyrim besides Ralof, and now he was being sent off to war. I would be alone.

No more immature sarcasm, crooked eyebrow salutes; no more uncontrollable laughter. He would be far enough away that my letters could take weeks to reach him; if he was even alive when they were sent.

"Ralof, I-"

"That son of a bitch," he interjected, face darkening with anger. "How could he ask this of me after all I've done for him? I lived in fear for my life for ten years, with only the other soldiers for company. I was sent to my execution trying to protect him, and helped him escape a dragon attack at his deathbed. I escaped, found a woman who I love and respect, and now he wants to drag me back into the thick of it all. What kind of a self absorbed bastard does such a thing?"

I could see his muscles tense up underneath his fur and steel armor. He was absolutely furious.

"Ralof, if every one of Ulfric's soldiers had that mindset, he would have lost the rebellion a long time ago. If Ulfric needs you so desperately, then obviously he respects you, and values your assistance to his cause. I don't like you leaving either, and I wish that he could just find some other soldier to take your place, but that isn't going to happen."

Ralof's face fell, and I could tell that he was trying not to cry.

I peered around at our surroundings; all frost tipped trees and snow coated rocks. I rubbed my gloved hands together, exhaling puffs of silvery steam.

"Maybe you could tell him I died."  
It was a short, simple sentence, but it filled me with repulsion and anger at his sudden cowardice. Silence hung thickly in the air, the only sound the crunching and squeaking of fresh snow beneath our boots as I glared at him. Suddenly I turned on him, unable to stop my outburst. I slammed him against a tree on the side of the trail, and his eyes widened in shock.

"As much as I want you to stay with me, I can not tolerate such ridiculous and utter cowardice! You have been in the war for ten fucking years. You should be used to this by now! What happened to the man in Helgen, who stood up for Ulfric despite the consequences?"

I lightly touched the angry red scar on his forehead, where he had been struck by the base of a guard's axe for telling the guard to leave Ulfric alone. He flinched at the memory, and pushed me off of him.

"Lets just walk. We can figure this out later." He started down the trail again, but I wouldn't have it.

"No. We need to talk now. I don't want to walk all the way to Riften with you if you're going to keep this attitude."

I grabbed a fistful of the soft, fur lined tunic he was wearing and pulled him towards me, spinning him around to look me in the eyes.  
"Ralof, I know you. You're one tough son-of-a-bitch, and I know you'll regret staying behind when Ulfric has requested you by name. I don't want you to leave, but I know that Ulfric has his ways of finding you, and he will. He obviously found you in Whiterun; what makes you think he won't track you down again? And if he does, what will he do to you for not responding to his call?"

Ralof obviously hadn't thought about this. He shook his head, the anger disintegrating, and pulled me into a bear hug. He buried his face in the crook of my neck.

"I don't know what to do, Lis. If I go, I may never see you again. And how will you get to Riften without me?" His accent was so thick I could hardly understand him.

"Well... Ulfric said to go to Windhelm as soon as possible, right? Last time I checked my map, Windhelm was directly north of Riften. Maybe you could take me there, stay the night, and head to Windhelm the next morning? Or, if you really wanted, I could steal you a horse and some gold to get you there..." I smiled. He still looked very uncertain about the whole situation, but he nodded.

"Okay," he said, "I give in. I'll go. But I have one question..." He grinned, putting his arm around my shoulder and beginning to walk again.

"What's that?" I replied, uncertainty creeping into my voice.  
"If you could have just stolen a horse, then why are we traveling all the way to Riften on foot?"

I laughed.

"You didn't seem so keen on me stealing anything and everything unguarded at War Maiden's, so I didn't bother to offer. Besides, stolen horses always seem to wander back home in the end."

He shook his head, smiling his goofy, infectious smile, and kissed me.

It was brief, nothing more than a peck on the lips, but it filled me with warmth and comfort. I was really going to miss Ralof.


	6. The Bee and Barb

Riften was a beautiful sight to see looming up in the distance, after having walked so many monotonous miles in the bitter cold of Skyrim's wilderness. The weather became more humid and grassy as we approached the Rift, and, although still unpleasant, the change in weather was a welcome relief.

When we arrived at the city, we were greeted by a guard standing in front of the gates.

"If you wish to enter the city, you have to pay the visitor's tax."  
I looked at Ralof, a silent question passing between us.

He stepped in front of me, approaching the guard in all of his brawn.  
"This is obviously a shakedown," Ralof said, his voice a deep, intimidating growl that paired nicely with his bulging muscles and overall frightening demeanor.

The guard's voice shook as he put his hands up and said, "Alright, alright. Do you want everyone to hear? I'll open the gate; Go in whenever you're ready." He stood aside, allowing us entrance into the city. We strode into Riften with smiles on our faces.

"Nice job, Rae." A smile split across my face, and I looked up at him to see his reaction to the new nickname.

"Gods, woman... You and your names." He grinned, squeezed my shoulder, and walked backwards with his arms outstretched to the sky. 

"Welcome to Riften!"

My mouth fell open as I looked around. It was nothing like what Myramor had described. In fact, it was nothing like what Ralof described, either. The city that lay before me was neither beautiful nor profitable by the looks of it. A dank aura hung in the air of decay and condemnation.

People milled around on the filthy streets, going about their daily business, but not one of them had more than a smirk on their face. The trees weren't quite dead, but they all seemed lifeless nonetheless. Their leaves were all a dull brown; the limbs devoid of birds, or any form of fauna. While the city was loud and the streets packed, there was a silence so thick and nauseating that it made me want to turn and run. It was a feeling I could scarce describe.

"So, is it all that you'd hoped it would be?" Asked Ralof, walking towards me and taking my hand.

"Gods, no... I should have listened to you. This place... It's giving me the chills."

I could feel eyes boring into me, something I had been trained to detect as a part of the Guild, but could not pinpoint the exact location.  
I scanned the crowd, but nobody looked out of the ordinary, so I decided to just move on and forget about it.

"So, who exactly are we looking for?" Asked Ralof, pulling me out of the gateway and deeper into the city.

"Myramor told me to inquire about a man named Gallus-- supposedly he's a close friend, and the Guildmaster here."

"Gallus... that name doesn't ring a bell. We'll have to ask around. I'm guessing we'll have the most luck at the Bee and Barb." He pulled me towards a wooden bridge that connected to an inner ring in the center of the city. I saw an Argonian man selling fine jewelry, a woman with quite the scowl selling leather and fur armor, a Dunmer man with all sorts of miscellaneous goods on display, and an auburn haired Nord selling potions.

"Wait, Ralof, I'm low on healing potions-- can I just check and see if that merchant has any?" I peered at the man, only to realize that he was staring directly at me with an odd look on his face.

Ralof turned to look at the man, and laughed out loud. "That man has never sold a real potion in his life. He's nothing but common street trash-- a scam artist. They're all just sugar and water."

The man was now examining a large, pink bottle, which was very similar to the bottles commonly used to hold Potions of Vigorous Healing, which were extremely difficult to come by. He flicked his gaze back towards me and smirked, resting his elbows on the wooden stand in front of him.

I looked away, following Ralof down a few alleys towards a small Inn.

"What makes you think that we'll find Gallus here?" I asked as we arrived.

"The Thieves Guild, to my knowledge, is always either here, in their underground tavern, or robbing homes around the city. The latter is obviously not a good place to check, and they don't let outsiders into their tavern, so this is really our only option."

We stepped into the Inn, and my senses were overwhelmed. The air was thick with smoke and the strong smell of mead, and there was a dank, humid atmosphere hanging in the small room.  
A man clad in heavy steel armor was pitched against the wall, staring directly at me with a terrifying expression on his face. An Argonian woman was leaning over the bar serving drinks, and I could hear her deep, gravelly voice from here. She was wearing a low cut tavern dress, which I thought comical, as Argonian women are usually devoid of breasts.

The room was full to the brim with guests, and they milled about, drunkenly and aimlessly. 

I approached the bar that the Argonian was leaning over. 

"Can we rent a room?" I asked, pulling out my coin purse.

The bar wench looked around the room, smirking.

"Sorry, miss, but I think we're full."  
My face fell, and I turned away.  
At that moment, another Argonian appeared from around a corner, walked up to the bar maid, and whispered something in her ear. She turned toward him, fear in her eyes, and rushed out of the room.

A burly man with massive, comical, curly blond sideburns approached the bar, and I immediately noticed the thick leather armor with its iridescent green sheen. He was a member of the Guild.  
I nudged Ralof's arm and pointed at the man, and the two of us approached him.  
He was talking to the Argonian man in a low, dangerous voice. I was close enough that I could hear only bits and pieces of the conversation.

"Keerava needs to pay up, or Maven will have to..."

"And we don't want that, do we?"

"No, please..."

"Has family on a farm in..."

"Maybe they could pay."

"You have three days, Talen-Jei, or else."  
The thief walked toward the exit, and I pushed through the crowd to get to him.

"Hey," I said, grabbing his shoulder.  
He turned around, a look of pure and utter disgust on his face, and said 

"What in Oblivion do you want?" 

"I'm a member of the Guild in Cyrodiil; I am supposed to find Gallus. I understand he's the Guildmaster here."

The man glared at me with painful scrutiny, and I shifted uncomfortably in the raw hatred of his stare.

"Gallus is dead," is all he said before he marched out of the Inn with a look of disgust on his face.


	7. Back on the Streets

I glanced at Ralof, confusion thick in my expression.

"What was that all about?" I asked the Argonian man, Talen-Jei, who had taken the place of the wench that had been serving drinks.

"It's none of your business," he spat, irritation evident in his expression.  
I looked at Ralof again, eyes wide. He had been right about this city. 

"If you don't mind my asking," I said, turning back towards Talen-Jei, "What was that man's name?" 

"That was Dirge. A fool of a man-- the brother of Maven's bodyguard, Maul. Damn Guild has been trying to bleed Keerava and I of all we own-- all because she couldn't pay back her debt. Filthy sewer rats, they are. I'd pay to see them exterminated." Talen-Jei had a dangerous edge in his voice that made me nervous and added to the uncomfortable atmosphere in the tavern.

"Keerava told us that you had no vacancy-- do you know of anywhere else we could stay?" I asked, eager to get out of the Bee and Barb as quickly as possible.

"Well, you could try Haelga's Bunkhouse-- they usually don't operate like an Inn, but maybe they'll make an exception for you. It's just down the street a bit if you want to give it a try." 

"We will, thank you... Good luck with the Guild." I migrated towards the door, and spied more green-sheened leather armor. It was a slender, dark haired woman sitting in a chair near the exit. Maybe she would have more information than Dirge.

I yanked Ralof over with me, and I caught the woman's attention.

"Excuse me, I'm from-"

"I don't have any business with you, so get out of my face."

The woman spoke with a steely edge in her voice, and I knew to leave her alone. I must have looked shocked, because the woman just scowled and returned to glumly staring into space.

As we exited the foul building, I expected a relief from the dank atmosphere of the Inn-- a breath of fresh air, at least-- but I got none. The air outside was thick and nauseating, and smelled of sewage and decay. I had no idea what Myramor had been spiking his mead with when he came here, but I sure wanted some.

"I guess we'd better check at Haelga's..." I said to Ralof, peeking around the corner and trying to find the bunkhouse.

Ralof had a disgusted look on his face, and I figured that he knew something about Haelga that I didn't.

"What?" I asked, looking him in the eyes.

"That Haelga-- she's a true whore. She sure doesn't hide it, either. She has a shrine of Dibella in plain sight, and makes no effort to hide her behaviors around the men she sleeps with. She disgusts me, that's all." I could tell that she had tried something on him before, but I figured it'd be better not to ask.

"So, I take it you know where this bunkhouse is. Would you be willing to go there for the night?" It was really our only option, and if he said "no" I was going to hit him.

"No. Absolutely not."

I almost hit him. But I didn't.

"Well, then, where do you suggest? Since you obviously know the city so well." My voice was dripping with sarcasm so strong that it almost hurt, and he flinched at my comment.

"Lici, I'm leaving tomorrow. I want to stay somewhere... special, you know? Not some bitch's brothel."

It hit me full on all of a sudden; how painful it would be without Ralof. I would have to fend for myself-- find my own food, keep myself warm at night, navigate from hold to hold alone... How would it be possible?  
I hugged him.

"We'll figure something out," I said, pulling him close and breathing in the scent of him. His fur armor was warm and stiff, but I knew that it would keep him safe, and that's all I really cared about.

"By the Nine, Ralof, what in Talos name am I going to do without you?" I felt tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as he pulled me off of my feet into a bear hug, and I giggled as he spun me around. The two of us made a loud clanking noise as our armor clashed together, but we didn't care that we were drawing attention. We had each other, and that's all we really needed.

Two hours later

After inquiring about properties in Riften, we found out that a house called Honeyside was vacant. Supposedly the previous owner had been slain in the war, and had no family, so the house had been left furnished and decorated inside and out until someone had the guts to clean it out.

This sounded like a perfect opportunity to me and (after extensive persuasion) Ralof, as we would be able to be alone in a home with no worries of being walked in on. I still had quite a few lockpicks from Cyrodiil left, and I was sure that I could manage to unlock the front door of the house.

We had asked around, and eventually found out its location; towards the outskirts of the city, on the upper level but near the canal.  
We stood before it now, in all its glory, as the sun began to slip behind the Throat of the World. I made sure there were no guards about, and began picking the lock. It was relatively easy; I had only had to move the lockpick a tiny bit to the left before hearing that beautiful click signifying the opening of the lock.

Ralof and I went inside and saw what a lovely house it was. There was a large kitchen, several bedrooms, a living area, an Alchemy lab, and an Arcane Enchanter, all in their own separate rooms. It appeared that the Guild had already been through this house, as I could find nothing of value in the whole building. 

Ralof and I were exhausted from the weeks of traveling, and we found the bedroom as quickly as possible.


	8. Silent Agony

Ralof and I had made ourselves at home, sprawled out on the master bed with the cozy little fireplace lit, though burning low as not to attract too much attention to the "vacant" house.

We had peeled off our armor, and now it lay in a brown and white-gold pile in the far corner of the room.

We were a tangle of limbs beneath the green bedspread, and we held each other tightly, trying to savor the moment. We were dressed only in our smallclothes, and the heat beneath the covers was warm and pleasant. I clung to Ralof like a wolf to its kill-- there was nothing I wanted more than for him to stay with me rather than being sent off to war for a power hungry man with regards only for the Throne. The thought of Ralof fighting for that man disgusted me, but I knew that the Stormcloaks were fighting for the right reasons, even if their leader was a vain bastard.

"Ralof," I said, "Gods. What am I going to do when you leave? I don't know anyone in all of Skyrim. I'll have no one to stay with, nobody to travel with... No one to lay with..." He chuckled at the last comment, and I felt the sound resonate in his chest as he pulled me closer.

"Lis, there is nothing in this world that I want more than to stay here with you. But you said it yourself-- if I do, there's no telling what Ulfric will do..."

I felt the laughter taper off as he spoke, felt his muscles coil and his spine go rigid.

"What prompted you to join the war, in the first place?" I asked, trying to take the attention off of Ulfric.

"Well, I always wanted to be a soldier as a boy-- maybe a mercenary or some kind of warrior, but I knew that I wanted something along those lines. When I turned 19, I heard about the War, and began looking into it more. I found out some things about the Emperor that disgusted me, and I decided to join the Stormcloaks. I was glad of this descision when I found out that the Empire had banned the worship of Talos-- my parents had both been devout believers and had visited the Temple at least twice a week. I never knew what a selfish, power hungry bastard Ulfric was until I met you-- but I would still rather fight for him than the Emperor." Ralof shrugged, and I turned my head to look at him.  
"Well, I'm glad you went through all of that. If you hadn't, I never would have met you. Who knows-- you still might have been Ulfric's lapdog, and I'd be a burnt corpse somewhere in a pile of ashes in Helgen." My eyes misted up as I thought of the first time I met Ralof, and the circumstances it had been under.

He touched my cheek with his rough hand, and pulled me up to sit next to him under the covers.

"It's bitter cold tonight-- I'm glad we have each other to stay warm," he said, stroking my tangled black hair. I tugged his braid and said, "I think we could be a lot warmer if we wanted to be..."

He met my piercing gaze with his, and laughed.

"Is that all you ever think about, girl?"

"If it involves a burly blond man who I just happen to be laying in a bed with, then yes. It is all I think about."

He pulled my hand out of his hair and held it in his, smiling his goofy smile. I felt my face flush at his classic smolder, and I kissed him.

He seemed shocked, again, that I was kissing him. By now he really should be used to it.

I pulled my hand from his and threw my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his messy blond waves. His hands were around my waist, stroking my back, and I knew he wasn't quite in the mood I was in.

To speed things up a bit, I threw my left leg over his right and held myself there, kneeling on his lap as I had done countless times over the past few weeks. His eyes widened at my hastiness, and he pushed me away. 

"Lici, this is becoming less and less of an emotional thing, and more and more of a lustful whim. Each time it loses more of its meaning, and I don't want that."

He sounded like my father, scolding me.

"Pfft... Ralof, you're leaving tomorrow. Don't you want a night to remember? Something to fight for? To bring you home safe?" I was playing on his feelings, trying desperately to get my way. "Because if you don't, I do," I continued, trying to lure him in.

He stared at me, still panting from the sudden explosion of emotion, and shook his head.  
"Damn it, girl. You have me completely wrapped around your finger, and you know it."

I smiled, and pulled him into another kiss. He didn't resist, and leaned into me, caressing my hair with his strong hand. He had become a very good kisser after the weeks of training, and now I felt my heart fluttering as he moved his lips to whisper something against mine.

"You are perfect."

I felt heat rising in my face, and It felt as if a thousand butterflies had been released in my stomach. After all this time, he still made me swoon.

His hands found the knot that loosely held my breastcloth to me, and he pulled it free, tossing it aside and holding me to him. I could have just sat there in his embrace forever, kissing his soft lips and relishing in the warmth of his calloused hands.

But we didn't have forever-- we only had one night. One short, cold night that would end in our separation for an indefinite amount of time. I could feel my skin tingling with his every move, and the rush of euphoria that came over me when his lips brushed my neck.  
My hands tangled in his hair as I pulled his head against my neck. 

He sat up and rolled me onto my back, pressing my shoulders into the bed suddenly. He kissed me again, deeper this time; stronger.

My hands traveled up and down his spine, but there was nothing else I could do, as he had me effectively pinned down against the bed.

He pulled my legs apart with his own knee and pushed his cock into me. My back arched under him, pushing his hands up and off of my shoulders. I must have looked like a fish, with my mouth wide open and panting with his every thrust, but I didn't care. All that mattered was me and him, and the memories we were making together.

He pressed me roughly against the bed each time I arced up, and slammed me into the mattress with each hefty shove of his hips.

I breathed in his scent, like honey and sun, and could practically taste the determination in his sweat. My legs wrapped around his waist as I climaxed, a flood of fluid rushing up to meet his thrusts. I practically screamed with pleasure, and my fingernails raked across his back as I pulled myself up to meet him.

He collapsed against me, and pinned me down as he came as well. He grunted loudly, and as his lips met mine one last time, only a whisper was audible in the silence of the bedroom.

"I love you."

My heart shattered, and I felt tears make their way into my eyes as he collapsed against the mattress, pulling me down with him. I held him tightly; his brawny, muscular form pressing into me perfectly in every nook and cranny. We were a perfect match.

 

At some point that night I had fallen asleep, and I now awoke to the bitter chill of the early morning air. The sheets were cold and unpleasant against my skin, as compared to the previous night when the heat had been nearly intolerable. 

I stretched and yawned, sitting up in the bed. It only took me a moment to realize that Ralof was gone. I was alone. And only a slip of paper propped against the pillow beside me gave me a clue as to where he had gone. It read:

Aliciana, please forgive me for my unexpected absence. You looked so peaceful and beautiful there under the covers, I couldn't bear the thought of waking you. I figured it would be easier for you this way-- not having to see me go. I'll be in Windhelm in three days time; please don't forget to write me.  
Never forget my love,  
Ralof

For the second time in two days, my heart shattered.


	9. Alone

Ralof woke with a start. The air was as frigid as the Throat of the World, and the meager green blanket that covered him and Lici was hardly enough to dent the ice that had managed to seep into the room. He sat up, looking around for the source of the sudden shift in temperature, and saw that the large, stone fireplace had burned out in the night. A window had blown open as well, adding on to the deep chill that encompassed the room.

He pulled the covers off of himself and stood, picking up his clothing from where it had been discarded the night before and pulling it on over his bare form. He approached the window once he was dressed and closed it gently; he took extra care to be quiet so as to not wake Aliciana.

He found a bit of tinder and began lighting another fire in the grate. When he managed to strike a flame, he returned to the bed, sitting on the side of it as he pieced together the elven armor Lici had stolen for him and pulled on his boots.

He risked one final glance at the beautiful woman he had come to love, admiring for the last time her soft, full lips; her lovely, pale complexion; her tousled black hair. He longed to look into her icy blue eyes again and to see the fire burning in them; to hear her sweet, soft voice as she spoke in her smooth, seductive way. But it was too late for that. 

He had grown too close to her, and she to him. If he woke her and said goodbye, he knew he would never have the strength to leave. She had become his best friend in so many ways, and he loved her more than anyone he'd ever been graced with meeting, but she'd said it herself. Staying behind and ignoring Ulfric's summons could put them both in danger, and he couldn't do that. Not after all she'd been through.

He walked out of the bedroom in a daze, found a roll if paper and some ink sitting on a vacant desk in the hallway, and wrote her a short letter of explanation. He returned to the room and set it on the pillow, his fingers brushing Lici's cheek as he pulled his hand away.

"I wish it didn't have to end like this," he whispered, still begging internally for one last glimpse of her gorgeous eyes.

He made sure to leave a warm sweetroll and some mead on the table for her when he left.

 

I stood up after reading his short letter, feeling dizzy and elusive. He had left me. With out a word of farewell. I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen to make some breakfast, staggering with each step. I lit a small fire in the stove and sat down at the table while I waited for the pot to heat up, and noticed a bottle of Black-Briar mead sitting near me. I turned to look at it, and saw that a sweetroll accompanied it on the table, still warm and soft.

Tears filled my eyes, and I popped open the mead, taking a long swig. It was strong, unlike the Honningbrew mead that we'd bought in Whiterun, which had tasted rather watered down. There was a distinct flavor of honey in the alcohol, and it made my stomach boil. 

I took a bite of the sweetroll, hoping it would assist in neutralizing the mead in my empty stomach. It was delicious, but it was nothing like the sweetrolls in Whiterun. It seemed as though the filth in the air here seeped into the food, as well. I ate it despite the flavor of lingering waste, and my stomach calmed enough to let me drink the rest of the mead. 

After dressing and putting out the fire, I tied a coinpurse to my belt and headed outside. I felt the disgusting air around me; it shifted against me with each move of my body, like a ghost encapsulating me. I walked towards the market that Ralof had led me by the day before, to see if that man was still selling potions. I didn't have to listen to Ralof anymore-- he was gone, so I could do as I damn well pleased.

When I reached the market, I was sad to see the potion stand empty, with no sign of anyone ever having worked there. I was disappointed, but I moved on quickly. I peeked at the goods for sale at the other stands, and found a sword that was in much better condition that the one I currently possessed. The woman selling it, Grelka, was a very angry, intimidating woman with an obvious chip on her shoulder. The way she rolled her eyes as I picked up the blade and inspected it, the way she sighed with irritation when I didn't buy any armor to go with it. She was definitely not someone I would want to get in a tussle with.

I found a few soul gems at the Dunmer man, Brand-Shei's stand, and a few fresh steaks at the stand of the Dunmer woman. I roasted the meat with the flames from my hand; that had been the first spell I had ever learned. I laughed when I saw the strange looks people were giving me, and 

I took a large bite of one of the steaks, making sure to chew it slowly and sensually to arouse my audience even more. I didn't care what the people thought of me-- what would it matter? They would never know my story; all that I had been through to get here, only to find out that the man I had come to meet was long dead. 

When I had finished my meat, I began walking away from the market to return to Honeyside. I laughed hysterically at people's attempts to intimidate me, and shot back many sarcastic glares of my own.

I had just reached the door to my temporary home when a deep, smooth voice that sent shivers down my spine said from the shadows, "Never done an honest day's work in your life for all that coin in your pocket, have you, Lass?"

I spun around, looking for the source of the voice. A tall, slender man clad in dark leather armor was leaned leisurely against the wall to my right, his legs slightly crossed at the ankles. His thick arms were folded over his chest, and his face, framed by wavy, shoulder-length auburn hair, was twisted into a smirk. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place him.

"How could you possibly know that?" I asked, caution and confusion creeping into my voice as I glared at him. My hand froze near the dagger at my waist, waiting for the man to make a move.

"It's all about sizing up your target-- the way they walk, how they dress-- it's a dead give-away."

"Wait... are you from the Guild?" I asked, recognizing the speech that I myself had given to a few people in Cyrodiil.

"Bingo," he said, his voice a deep growl as his eyes travelled over my body slowly, slowing when they reached my ass.

I shifted uncomfortably in his gaze, folding my arms and popping one of my hips.

"At least the Guild in Cyrodiil still has some dignity left," I said, furrowing my brows and rolling my eyes at the man.

"Ah, lass... I'm the least of your worries. You should see some of the other men in the Guild." He laughed; a deep, throaty sound that gave me goosebumps. I leaned against one of the pillars that held up the deck of Honeyside, glaring at the man as he continued to look me up and down.

"What do you want?" I finally asked, scowling when the man's smirk twisted into a half smile. 

"I heard you were asking about Gallus," he said, his voice a soft growl as he spoke in his strange accent. "And I thought I should see what it was that a member of the Cyrodiil Guild would be doing in Riften of all places, asking about a man who's been dead for more than 15 years."

His face was cloaked in shadow, and I couldn't see the color of his eyes, but they made me shift uncomfortably as he stared at me, his thin lips returning to their previous smirk. 

"I was sent here to find Gallus and ask for his assistance. The Guild has been suffering, and I don't know how long they'll last without help. And by the Nine, would you stop looking at me that way?!" He chuckled quietly and turned his gaze to a splintering piece of wood near his booted feet.

"Well, unfortunately, our Guild has been... A little in the dumps too as of late. Not too much coin flowing through the city these days." His eyes flicked up to a woman who was approaching us, and he tensed up.

"That man you were with-- where did he go?" Inquired the Thief, stepping away from the wall, clearly nervous. I held back tears.

"He, uhm... He left. To serve in the war." I decided not to say any more unless the man asked.

"Hmmm... Look, lass. I have to go. We can't talk here." He turned to leave, but I asked him something before he went.

"How long have you been spying on me?"  
He turned to look at me, and I saw in the light that filtered through his crimson hair that his eyes were green; the color of seafoam.

"All will be explained, Lass."  
He walked away, and I was even more confused than I had been before speaking with him.

I walked around the town for a minute or two, to discourage any rumors of me breaking into and residing within Honeyside. I returned when the guards had gone, and when I entered it looked as though somebody else had been there.

The fireplaces had been lit, the bottle of mead on the kitchen table discarded; but the most unnerving thing I saw was a knife sticking out of the doorway to the bedroom, pinning a hastily scrawled note in place. In large, loopy calligraphy it read:

There is a tavern called the Ragged Flagon in the sewers. You can reach it through the Ratway tunnels. Meet me there.

I could feel the blood drain from my face. The man had been in this house; had lit the fireplaces and thrown away my rubbish, and I never would have known if he hadn't intended me to. He had been spying on me for Gods know how long, and I had never known until now. For all I know he could have kidnapped Ralof that morning, rather than Ralof leaving of his own accord. And I would never know for sure.

Guess I don't have much if a choice, I thought. Better go find this tavern in the sewer.


	10. The Ragged Flagon

It had taken hours. The instructions on the note made it sound so simple; "meet me in the Ragged Flagon, its in the sewer". But little had I known that that sewer was full of urchins and stowaways; bandits and psychotic prison escapees. And it was a maze down there. I had found myself walking in circles; only realizing finally due to repeatedly passing by the bodies of the people I had killed along the way.

There was one man that had been a particular thorn in my side. He had placed bear traps all over the ground in his area, which were more annoying to step around than they were dangerous. But when I found the man himself, I could see that he was completely drunken and crazed, and he fought me with his fists. 

He wore gloves that must have been enchanted to make his punches twice as strong, because I doubt that any normal man could manage to punch inch-deep dents into pure Refined Moonstone.

When I had finally arrived at the Flagon, I knew only because of the two or three people sitting at tables in the large cavern, wearing their thick, brown leather armor with its many signature pouches. I could feel their eyes boring into me, scrutinizing the strange Nord girl clad head to toe in gleaming moonstone. 

I kept my head held high as I removed my elven helmet, letting my ebony hair tumble down. I had to find the man that had been spying on me. I needed to figure things out, and talking to him seemed to be the only way of doing that.

"Ahhh, lass. I see you found the Flagon."

That strange voice appeared from behind me, and I spun around to see the redhead smirking at me. Again.

"You have quite the way of sneaking up on people, don't you..." I looked at him, waiting for a name.

"Brynjolf."

"Brynjolf? The hell kind of a name is Brynjolf?!" I laughed, folding my arms over my chest and leaning against the bar near the door to the sewers. The man polishing glasses behind it raised his eyebrows, wincing slightly as the words left my mouth.

Brynjolf scowled.

"Listen, lass. I haven't called you here to make fun of my name. We obviously have serious business to discuss. So if you wouldn't mind showing a scrap of maturity, it would be appreciated."

The few people who had been in the tavern left, and he gestured to a chair at one of the many empty tables near the bar, and I took a seat.

"Right. Maturity. Says the man who refused to stop staring at my ass in front of Honeyside."

The barkeep, now the only other person in the room, let out a loud, sudden chortle, and slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle it. I could see that the man had dimples that showed when he smiled, and I tried not to let his contagious laugh catch me.

I bit my lip to keep from grinning, and said, "So, Brynjolf, back to our discussion from Honeyside. How long have you been spying on me? And how in Oblivion did you know Ralof left me yesterday morning?"

Our expressions swapped; a scowl crept onto my face as I spoke, and a smirk onto his.

"We take note of all newcomers to the city. And it's hard not to notice a beast of a man who had enough in him to intimidate the guards like he did; most people just pay the visitor's tax and move on. Clearly you need some lessons on how to travel discreetly, lass." He snickered at my insulted expression, lounging back in his chair. He turned to the barkeep.

"Vekel, get me a mead, would ya?"  
The bartender erased the look of amusement from his face and said, "Sure thing, Brynjolf." He produced a bottle of Black-Briar mead and set it on the table near Brynjolf, who proceeded to open it and gulp it down in a matter of seconds.

"And get Aliciana here a bottle, too," he said as an afterthought, slamming the nearly empty bottle back down onto the table.

Vekel reached down to get me one, too, but I chimed in, "No, thank you. I had a few bottles with breakfast yesterday. But I'm sure Brynjolf here already knew that, as he seemed to have no problem disposing of the empty bottles yesterday morning." I glared at him, and he laughed.

"Actually, that was Vex. She always was one for keeping things tidy."

"Vex? You had more than one person spying on me?!"

"Of course I did, lass. After you talked to Dirge about Gallus, we put you on our red flag list. Had half the Guild watching you." He folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his rickety wooden chair, extending his legs and spreading them slightly.

"Wait--" I started, becoming very nervous all of a sudden, wondering if they had been watching the night before with Ralof. 

"Yes, we had Delvin in Honeyside last night. Believe it or not, he came back a little perkier than usual." Brynjolf crooked his eyebrow, and my heart lurched. It reminded me of Ralof.

My face went red when I got what Brynjolf was implying, and I realized that the whole Guild had probably heard about what had happened between me and Ralof the night before.

"Gods. Well, I'm glad to know that my personal life is private and secure," I started, suddenly extremely uncomfortable under Brynjolf's scrutinizing gaze.

Brynjolf seemed so pleased with himself for finding a topic that made me uncomfortable. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the table and, as usual, smirking at me as I shifted in the awkward silence. His eyes were closed to slits, and the spite in his voice was thick as he spoke.

"Not so fun having something like that thrown in your face, is it, lass? Maybe you should consider the stakes before you go throwing your insults around at strangers." He grinned, and I had an overwhelming urge to slap him then and there. The damned bastard.

"Look, can we just forget about... that... And talk about what I came here to discuss in the first place?" Brynjolf looked irritated as I spoke, sitting back in his chair once again.

"Sure, lass. Just don't piss me off again, and I won't bring it up." He looked at me expectantly.

"Whatever." I glared at him, hatred boiling inside of me. I changed the subject.

"The Gray Fox sent me here to ask you for help. The Cyrodiil Guild isn't doing so well, and they need resources to gain back their footholds in the major cities. Myramor sent me to find Gallus, who I understand is dead. So what do we do with the situation at hand here?"

Brynjolf chuckled.

"Well, lass... That's a question for Mercer. He's the Guild Master. I'm just second in command." He ran his fingers through his auburn hair, looking up at me as he did so. He was clearly waiting for the response that I was about to give him. 

Oh, Gods. I was mad. How dare he lead me on believing that he was the Guild Master for so long?! Not only had he wasted my time, he had also wasted my respect.

"So you called me to this godforsaken, shithole of a tavern in the guts of the most disgusting city I have ever had the misfortune to stumble upon to speak with you, because of the urgent situation we had at hand, and now you tell me that there is nothing you can do about it because you aren't the fucking Guild Master? And you expect me to show maturity and respect towards you, even though you are officially the biggest asshole I have ever met, whom I would take pleasure in running through with my dagger here and now!" I drew my enchanted Orcish blade, letting the greenish-gray metal catch the dim, filtered light of the cavern. Brynjolf's eyes grew wide, and his brows knit together. I could hear Vekel holding back bouts of laughter, and I really felt like shouting at him. But I knew exactly what was so funny. The expression on Brynjolf's face was priceless.

"Calm down, lass. By the Eight, you'll burn the place down with your anger if you aren't careful."

I stood up quickly, letting my chair scrape across the ground and fall onto its side.

"Take me to the Guild Master, you useless fuck! I don't have all day!"  
I held up my dagger, letting my threat sink in.

He stood, throwing his hands up in the air, and laughed.

"I don't know why, but I like you," he said, walking slowly towards the doorway to the right of the bar.

"Well, the feeling isn't mutual."  
Instead of opening the door to the sewers, he turned to his right, facing a tall, mostly empty shelf that stood against the wall. He pressed a small button on the side and it sprang open to reveal another doorway within a small chamber.

"After you," he said, gesturing to the door with a chuckle.

I eyed him disapprovingly, and sheathed my dagger, stepping through the doorway and into an enormous cistern.

"If you like me this much, lass, you're going to be smitten with Mercer."

Brynjolf was going to get slapped if he didn't shut up. My patience was wearing very thin.

We walked into the cistern, and I soon realized that it was lined around its circumference with beds, chests, and shelves, like a very large inn. People clad in Guild armor were lounging in the beds, at tables, and in chairs; one Bosmer man even shooting arrows at a target that had been set up near a pool of water.

There was a lone desk standing across the cavernous room, and I could see a man, clad head to toe in dark leather armor like Brynjolf's, leaning over it. His posture was terrible; his broad shoulders were hunched over the desk, and his ratty brown hair obscured my view of his face. Just the way he held himself sent shivers up my spine; the man gave me the creeps.

"Is that Mercer?" I asked, pointing to the man.

"Sure is," replied Brynjolf with his usual smirk. "He's going to love that you're here... He'll probably offer you a place in the Guild right away, along with a cozy new set of armor. That's just Mercer for you."

I could hear the thick sarcasm in his voice, and I shuddered. How bad was this man going to be?


	11. Meeting Mercer

It didn't take me long to realize that Brynjolf had been correct in assuming that I would despise Mercer. He was a disgusting man-- gave me the creeps. He reminded me distinctly of Yronthor, the bandit who had... assaulted me.

Something in the way he stood-- in his very being-- had the vibe of someone like Yronthor. His voice was the worst part. It was very throaty and nasally, with a hint of attempted seduction. Just hearing him speak was like nails on a slate; it gave me goosebumps and a deep, sickened feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Not to mention his personality.

He was a stuck up little bitch, who made Brynjolf look like one of the Divines in comparison. He took one look at me down his massive, bird-like nose, and said, "Who the fuck is this, Brynjolf?"

Brynjolf, looking worried, had slung his arm over my shoulder and said, "My new protégé. She's pretty easy on the eyes, isn't she?"

Something in his voice had told me to just go with it, so I did. I tossed my hair nonchalantly and tried to think up a better story than why I had really come all the way to Skyrim.

"I'm from the Cyrodiil Guild. Brynjolf requested my help on a job in the city, and he brought me down here to check in with you before accepting my assistance."

Mercer had looked completely and utterly disgusted.

"Brynjolf, what job could you possibly need help with that our current Guild members can't provide?"

Brynjolf looked down at me with an apologetic glint in his eye, and hesitantly replied, "Goldenglow."

Mercer's eyes grew wide.

"You requested help from out of Skyrim? For Goldenglow?"

Brynjolf looked so nervous, it was beginning to rub off on me.

"Um... Yeah. This lass here... Aliciana... She's the best they've got over there. The Gray Fox's daughter." There was a warning tone in his voice telling me that I had to go along with it, or else.

I folded my arms over my chest, trying to force down the wave of fear and nausea that was rising up inside of me with each lie.

"Well, actually, I'm an orphan. Myramor found me when I was only a little girl, and he raised me in the Guild. So he might as well be my father." At least this response was honest-- it was more than Brynjolf could say. 

Mercer looked intrigued.

"So, you know the Gray Fox? That's interesting. I had heard he was dead."

I had to laugh. Mercer clearly didn't know the effect that the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal had on people.

"No... He's very much alive. You may not have known that the cowl-"

"Erases the person from history. I am aware. What I mean is that I received correspondence from Cyrodiil that told me of the Gray Fox's recent assassination."

My stomach plummeted when he told me this. I hadn't even thought of the prospect of Myramor dying while I was away. So much had happened since I left... I guess I thought that my home life was invincible.

Mercer then folded his arms, leaned against the wall, and stared down his huge nose at me. "Of course, it's very likely that that rumor was false. People tried to kill Gallus many times, and only one of them succeeded. I guess we won't know for sure until you go back to Cyrodiil and see for yourself. After you complete the Goldenglow job, of course. I'm sure my useless assistant Brynjolf has informed you of the stakes?"

My hatred for him boiled inside me. The bastard probably hadn't even heard anything about Myramor's death, and had only said that he had to make me nervous. Brynjolf looked at me sideways, hoping I would continue going with the story. I sighed and prepared to lie once again, a feeling rising inside of me similar to that of digging my own grave.

"Of course he has. I'll be leaving to do the job tomorrow, after sending my father and my lover correspondence of my own. Shall I return here when the job is finished?" I tried not to give Mercer the satisfaction of hearing the worry in my voice, about both of them. I hoped to the Gods that Ralof had reached Windhelm safely, and that Myramor was alive and well.

"Yes. If you want a new set of armor see Tonilia. And see Delvin about your reward after the job is finished. Of course, if you even come back alive." Mercer smirked, and his eyes travelled down my slender form just as Brynjolf's had before. I was so ridiculously angry at that point that I had literally had to restrain myself from punching Mercer in his disgusting face.

Brynjolf had seen me ball my fist and had discreetly grabbed my wrist and held it tightly where it was. I silently thanked him.

"Then I'll be on my way. I will see you tomorrow after the job is complete." I turned on my heel and stormed out of the cistern and back towards the Flagon, letting my anger burn out through my quick movement.

When I arrived in the empty Flagon, the only person there was Vekel, still polishing glasses as he had been when I left. He saw me and smiled, those dimples appearing once again. "Quite the nerve you have, talking to Brynjolf like that. Most of the Guild would have been terrified beyond reason and backed down."

I grinned. Something about Vekel made me... I don't know. Happy, I guess.

"Eh... he's not so bad after meeting Mercer. Besides, it seems like a dagger to the back really perks him up."

Vekel smiled at this, trying not to laugh.

I folded my arms and sighed.

"I guess he likes me enough to have forced me into a deadly job that Mercer now expects to be finished by tomorrow, so I'll have to try the dagger thing again some time. Great results." I plopped down into a chair as Vekel laughed.

"Goldenglow, eh? Even our little Vex couldn't get in." He arched one eyebrow and leaned against the wall behind the bar, setting the glass he had been polishing down on the dusty countertop.

"I have no idea what I've been signed up for. Literally. I have no clue what Goldenglow even is." I sat forward in my chair, letting my head fall down to my hands as I realized just how stupid it had been to go along with Brynjolf's plan.

Vekel's eyes widened as I spoke, and he walked out from behind the bar, taking the seat in the chair across from me. His elbows jammed into the table, and he looked infuriated.

"Brynjolf signed you up for Goldenglow without even telling you the stakes?"

I nodded, my black hair falling in my face as I did so. My nails were digging into my forehead, and I spoke in a choked whisper, "What is the Goldenglow job?"

Vekel shook his head, his shoulder length brown hair falling into his face. I saw that his eyes were almost exactly the color of Ralof's, and my heart throbbed painfully in my chest as I tried not to think about him.

"Well... Basically, some guy named Aringoth pissed off Maven Black-Briar, and now she has decided that he needs to be taught a lesson. You have to break into Goldenglow Estate, some bee farm just outside of Riften, and empty Aringoth's safe, burn down three of his beehives, and get back here alive."

It sounded easy enough, but I knew that all the fuss had to be about something.

"What's the catch?" I asked, removing my hands from my face and looking Vekel in the eyes. He looked away as he spoke, and his rich, thickly accented voice sounded tight and uncomfortable.

"Well, the thing is, Aringoth has hired dozens of highly trained mercenaries to guard his house and bee farm, and his safe can only be opened with a key. A key that only Aringoth himself has a copy of. And he has to stay alive. If you kill Aringoth, chances are that Maven will send the Dark Brotherhood after you, and I can promise you now that you do not want that to happen." Vekel had a haunted look in his eye, and I decided that I had better not inquire any further.

I opened my mouth to speak just as the doors to the Cistern burst open.


	12. Making Choices for Me

Brynjolf stormed into the room, dragged a chair across the floor and up to the now crowded table that Vekel and I already occupied. Vekel looked shocked, and quickly stood and stepped away from the table. He reassumed his position behind the bar, warily returning to polishing glasses.

Brynjolf didn't even flinch as Vekel scurried off, and I could tell that he had something he wanted to say to me.

"You are either the most ignorant and arrogant lass I have ever met, or the smartest. I'm still deciding." His fiery hair was a halo around his face, and his sea-foam green eyes shone brightly in the dim candlelight of the sewer.

I folded my arms, injecting as much venom into my glare as I physically could.

"And you are either the most desperate, lowly fuck I have ever met, or the single most idiotic and selfish asshole. I am still deciding as well. What kind of a fucking prick signs up a near stranger for a job that nobody in all of the Riften Thieves Guild has been able to complete? I'm debating whether to slap you, or plunge my fucking dagger into your heart!"

Brynjolf scowled, imitating my glare with his own.

"Calm down and drop the tough act, lass. I tried to help you out with Mercer, but you decided to create a pointless, elaborate lie to try to win him over. If I had told him you were here for any other job, he would have offed us both then and there. You got yourself into this, even if it was unintentional."

I rolled my eyes and looked over at Vekel. He made a nervous face at me, then smiled. Why couldn't all of the thieves be like him? At least he seemed to have a shred of dignity left about him.

"Look, just tell me what I have to do to complete the job, and I'll do it. I just want to get back to Cyrodiil to see my father, and make sure that your asshole of a leader was, in fact, misinformed of his death."

Brynjolf's eyes widened, and he looked extremely surprised.

"Wait-- you really are the Gray Fox's daughter? I thought that was part of the lie!"

I laughed.

"Yeah, everything I said about Myramor was true. He found me and raised me in the Guild, and he's been a father to me ever since. Though there is no blood relation, he still means the world to me, and now Mercer has me all worked up because I don't know if he's really dead or not."

Brynjolf leaned on the table, and he gazed off into the space to my left.

"That was cruel of Mercer, to say such a thing. To my knowledge, he never did receive correspondence from Cyrodiil, but I guess we'll never know."

I was beginning to get impatient, and I sighed in annoyance.

"So, about Goldenglow. Vekel filled me in on the basics, but I need to know in-depth what I'm after and why." I looked at Brynjolf expectantly, tapping my booted foot lightly on the hard stone floor.

He seemed to snap out of his trance, and his eyes flicked up at me, one slightly squinted, as his eyebrows knit together.

"You're going to hate this."

I twisted a strand of my hair nervously, awaiting the rest of my potential death sentence.

"Look. Everyone in the Guild, besides Mercer himself, has been sent to do this job at some point in time. None have died, but there have been some serious injuries and very close calls. Even Vex tried to get in... she's our absolute best infiltrator and even she couldn't do the job. And I hope to Talos that you can, being the fucking Gray Fox's daughter and all..." He flicked his emerald eyes towards me, cocking one eyebrow. My heart quivered and one name popped into my head.

Ralof...

I felt tears pooling in my eyes, and I could practically feel the blood rushing to my face as I tried to cover it up.

"What is it? Are you okay?" Brynjolf made a move to place his hand on my shoulder, but I slapped it away.  
"I'm sorry, I have to go. Now. I'll meet you at Goldenglow tomorrow at 9:00."  
I stood up out of the chair, turned on my heel and walked briskly towards the door to the Ratway. I felt his hand clasp my arm before I had even gone 5 feet.   
He spun me around to face him, and a wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows.

"Wait. What's going on? What is wrong with you?"

By now the tears were flowing, and I covered my face with one of my hands. 

"Gods. I'm sorry. I just... You remind me of him..."

Brynjolf's grip loosened and he crossed his arms over his leather-clad chest, releasing me.

"Follow me," he said, walking towards the door to the Cistern.

I hesitantly agreed, walking with him into the large, cavernous room whilst trying to calm the cascade of tears that had caught me by surprise. We approached a tall, slender Redguard woman, whose ebony hair was secured tightly in a bun on the back of her head. She was leaning against a wall, engaged in a conversation with a blond woman who I presumed to be Vex.

"Tonilia," said Brynjolf, his voice booming over their conversation and startling the two women.

The Redguard, Tonilia, spun towards Brynjolf, a smirk on her face as her eyes travelled over his body.  
"Hey. What can I do for you, Bryn?"  
Vex looked "vexed" and turned to walk away. Neither one of the women had taken notice of me.

Brynjolf folded his arms and leaned against the wall leisurely. His movement revealed me, as I had been standing behind him. Tonilia's smirk disappeared when she saw me, and she stood straight with wide eyes.

"This is Aliciana," said Brynjolf, gesturing to me and answering Tonilia's silent question. "She needs to be fitted for some armor."

"Uhm... alright. A new addition to the Guild? Let's hop to it. It's getting, erm... late." Her gaze flicked awkwardly to Brynjolf each time she paused between words, and he winked at me. 

He was clearly amused.

I wiped the remnants of tears off of my face, and Tonilia led me towards a nook containing a few shelves and an Alchemy lab. She took my measurements, found some armor stashed away that fit me, and that was that. I thanked her, and Brynjolf insisted on seeing me out.

He led me to a doorway I hadn't noticed before. There was a ladder and trapdoor leading out through the top of it, which Brynjolf proceeded to climb.

"What was that all about with Tonilia?" I asked him, clambering up the rickety ladder after him.

He chuckled and said, "Crazy bitch has been trying to get in my pants for years."

I laughed out loud at this. Even the Cyrodiilian Guild would never have addressed one of there own as a "crazy bitch". 

"I take it you don't like her, then?"  
Brynjolf lifted the trapdoor for me and I climbed out into a tiny stone room.

"Gods... that woman. She has the determination of a mule." He smirked, and I decided not to ask any more questions about Tonilia. She obviously had a thing going with Brynjolf. It was so painfully clear that I hadn't a doubt in my mind.

Brynjolf pulled a chain on the wall, and the ceiling began to shift. I saw that it opened into a mausoleum, and that the ceiling was, in fact, a coffin. Brynjolf walked out with me and said, "Behold the secret entrance. You will no longer need to travel through the Ratway to get down there." He grinned at me and leaned against the stone wall. 

"But, Lass, don't mention this to Mercer. He'll have my hide if he knows I showed it to you." He raised his eyebrows, and he ran his hand through his auburn hair.

"You can count on it," I replied, walking towards the exit of the mausoleum.

"Hey. Tomorrow, don't meet me at Goldenglow. Meet me at the market. I have a little job to do that I may need your help with." He had turned back to the trapdoor, and was standing with his hand on the pullchain.

I glanced back at him one more time, and said, "Whatever. See you there."  
___________

I returned "home", with "home" being my secretly occupied, stolen house. Honeyside really was a beautiful place; I decided that I would make an effort to buy it if the opportunity ever arose.

I made my way up the dark wood stairs, running my hand along the cool, metal railing that led to the upper floor.  
There was an office nestled in between the master bedroom and a store room, and I took a seat at the oak wood desk within.   
I picked up a blank piece of stationery from a tidy stack in the corner of the desk and proceeded to write a letter to Myramor.

Father,  
I have reached the City of Thieves safely. I regret to inform you that the man you sent me here to see, Gallus, is dead, and has been for fifteen years. I have, however, met a man named Brynjolf who is willing to help me convince the hard-headed (and thick-skulled) Guild Master, Mercer Frey, to provide assistance to the Cyrodiil Guild.  
I have, as well, met a man here whom I have come to love and trust. His name is Ralof. He saved me from a dragon (as strange as that may sound, I do mean it completely literally), and offered me comfort in the moments before my scheduled execution (it's a long story). We've spent around twelve weeks together, but he was recently summoned by the leader of a rebel army to serve in the war again.   
I miss him so direly... I can not stop thinking about him. Oh, father... what do I do? I can't face it if he dies-- he's the only person in all of Skyrim who cares for me. With him gone, I'm all alone here. I just hope to the Gods that he comes back safely.  
How have you been? Is the Guild faring any better than it was when I left? I look forward to seeing you again soon.  
Yours truly,  
Aliciana Maevnis

I knew I had gotten carried away whilst writing about Ralof-- I was sure that Myramor did not want to hear as much as I relayed, but he would have to deal with it.

I sealed the letter and addressed it to Myramor, and started on my letter to Ralof.

Dearest Ralof,  
I awoke yesterday morning only to find a cold room and an empty bed. I know you meant well, but I miss you so terribly... I wish you would have at least said goodbye. I hope you made it to Windhelm safely-- I've been worried sick for the last two days. The land out there, so I've heard, is bitter and treacherous terrain composed purely of snow and ice. Please be careful.  
I've made contact with the Thieves Guild. It turns out that the man I was sent here to meet has been dead for fifteen years, and I've had to learn the hard way that most of the Guild members here are lusty pigs.  
I've been staying in Honeyside. Every time I come home to here, I can't help but think of you. I miss you. I want you to be here with me, but I understand why that can't happen.  
Please come home safe.  
Lici


	13. Tundra Frost

The road had been harsh on Ralof. It was long and winding, and bitter cold all the way. He had stopped only to eat and sleep, and even while dreaming he couldn't get the picture of Aliciana out of his mind, laying there on the bed asleep. She had been so peaceful, he just couldn't bear to wake her.  
It shocked him how fiercely he missed her. It was like he had lost a vital organ, and was slowly dying without it. It took every ounce of strength he had not to run all the way back to Riften just to see her again.  
He could see Windhelm looming up in the distance; it was a beautiful city, supposedly the oldest in the country. It was very large, and it had a grandeur of its own that Ralof admired. He had always been one for big cities.  
He wondered what he would find when he reached the city; if Aliciana had written to him, or if she was already over him leaving and had moved on to another man. The thought of someone else in her bed infuriated him, and he decided to think about something else.  
Being back here in Windhelm reminded Ralof of when he had first joined the Stormcloaks around 10 years ago. He had been only 19; ignorant and foolish for a boy his age. He had never even considered the long-term consequences of getting involved in the war, and now he deeply regretted it.   
Part of him was convinced that he only joined the war to avenge his parents, who had been slaughtered by the Imperials for their devout worship of Talos. The soldiers had left Ralof and Gerdur in the house after murdering their parents; just left them there to fend for themselves and figure out what to do with their lives with no guardians and no other family to fall back on.   
After a few months of living on their own, a concerned neighbor had summoned the Guards to escort the two of them to Honorhall Orphanage in Riften, where they had grown up and been abused and degraded by the owner, Grelod "the kind". Ralof had decided, after only 3 years of being there, that he would run away to join the war first chance he got.  
Just before Ralof had escaped Riften and set out for Windhelm, he had threatened Grelod with a knife and told her that if she did anything to his sister, he would kill her. Grelod had seemed to respond well to an iron blade pressed against her throat, and promised Ralof that no harm would come to Gerdur as long as Grelod never saw Ralof again.  
He had left almost immediately, set out for Windhelm, gotten lost, and ended up in Whiterun. He had no idea how, but by some phenomenon he had mixed up Windhelm and Whiterun on the map, and ended up several miles west of where he should have been.   
While in Whiterun he had become the blacksmith's apprentice, which had helped him considerably bulk up and gain muscle. Being raised in Honorhall had whittled him down to skin and bone, but the blacksmith had kindly taken him in and offered him food and shelter in exchange for help around the forge. Ralof had never mentioned that he had run away from Honorhall, and the blacksmith, Thren, had never asked him about his past.  
Thren had been so kind to him that Ralof began to see him as a father figure. They had become very close, and Ralof had matured from the scrawny, selfish orphan who had escaped Honorhall years before. But once again, after only two years together, Thren was murdered for his belief in Talos. Ralof would have been, too, if not for his young age.  
Ralof had been making preparations to leave for Windhelm once again when he received a letter from his sister, Gerdur. He had been so happy to hear from her after all those years, and he practically ripped the letter out of the courier's hands when he spoke the name of the person who had sent it.   
The letter had told Ralof that Gerdur, too, had escaped Honorhall, and that she now lived on a little plot of land that she had turned into a mill with her newly wed husband, Hod. Ralof quickly set out for the place Gerdur had described in her letter, which was actually very close to Whiterun.  
When he arrived, Gerdur had greeted him and showed him around the mill that had recently become a small town. There was an inn, a mercantile, a blacksmith, and a few fruit stands. Apparently people from the neighboring holds had found city life too stressful, and moved out to the wilderness to get away from it. And what better place than a mill nestled up against the mountains, frequented by deer, fish, and rabbits, all surrounded by an expansive forest and a beautiful river?  
Gerdur had gawked at Ralof when he arrived, hardly recognizing the huge, brawny boy that stood before her. He was only 16, while Gerdur herself was 20, but she felt almost intimidated by him. He had changed so much since she had last seen him, and she couldn't help feeling that she no longer knew him. He did, however, still have that tacky braid woven into that straw colored hair of his. She had always hated it; it reminded her of their father, who had worn his hair the same way.  
Ralof had stayed with Gerdur for around a year, but quickly learned that country life was not for him. He had decided to give Helgen a try, as he had heard that it was a nice city with friendly people and good mead. Lucan Valerius, the mercantile owner's son, had become a good friend to Ralof, and had requested that Ralof pick up a special artifact for him before he left for Helgen. Lucan was looking for a "solid gold dragon claw", as he had put it, that would be found right inside the doors of Bleak Falls Barrow, a burial crypt just outside of town. When Ralof had asked how Lucan knew of the artifact, Lucan had only said that he "had his sources". Ralof hesitantly agreed, and set off once again.  
Ralof had stopped in Whiterun to pay his respects to Thren and pawn off some of the other stuff he had found in Bleak Falls Barrow, and he had met the most beautiful woman he had seen. Her name was Adrianne Avenicci, and she was the Steward's daughter. She had taken the place of Thren as the city blacksmith, and Ralof had felt compelled to talk to her for that reason among many others.  
He had chatted with her for hours, and she seemed very nice. he had told her about how he lived in the country in a little town called Riverwood, but was planning to move to Helgen. She had assured him that Helgen was a wonderful place to start anew, and that he would surely love it.  
Shortly after that conversation he had asked if he could use the forge, and she told him that he could, as long as he bought her a few drinks later at the Bannered Mare. Ralof had agreed, pleased with himself for scoring such a beautiful woman.  
He forged a steel warhammer and some armor, then sold some arrows to Adrianne. She told him she'd meet him at the Bannered Mare an hour from then, and to bring lots of coin. Ralof had been so excited; he was only 17 and about to bed his first woman.  
He met her there and bought her some Alto Wine and a boiled creme treat, which she greatly appreciated. She must have had a very low alcohol tolerance, or she was just pretending to be drunk, but she threw herself at him unexpectedly, and he was shocked. He had always been one to treat women with the utmost respect, and here was this beautiful girl who he really liked, acting like a prostitute in plain view of everyone in the Bannered Mare.   
She had dragged him into one of the rooms in the back and removed most of her clothing when a tall, muscular, black haired man who was about twice the size of Ralof burst into the room. His face was a mask of rage and feral bloodlust.   
Adrianne had dropped Ralof like a hot potato, shoving him away from her as if he had been the one undressing her and forcing her into the room. She ran over to the man in the doorway, holding her dress against her nearly bare form. Her expression was that of pure fear and disgust. Ralof instantly felt like an idiot for not inquiring as to whether or not she was married, and he cracked his knuckles as the huge man approached him with muscles bulging and brow furrowed.  
Ralof had taken quite a beating that day, and he decided not to flirt with women anymore unless they initiated the conversation. He had confronted Adrianne the next day, but she acted like the story she had told Ulfberth War Bear was completely true. She had even told Ralof that if he didn't get away from her she would call the guards. He gave up on her and headed back to Riverwood, his sister's small town.  
He brought the claw back to Lucan, and Lucan gave him enough money in return to get started in Helgen.  
Ralof, only 17, had made a good start for someone his age. He had travelled to Helgen and found it very much suited to his taste. It was a quaint city; smaller and less densely populated than Whiterun or Riften had been, but he liked it. It reminded him of Ivarstead, the village his parents had hailed from.  
He stayed at the Inn most nights, worked at the mill most days, and spent most evenings flirting with a sweet girl named Karita. Her mother had been trained as a bard at the college in Solitude, and had taught Karita everything she knew. Unfortunately there are some things that training can't fix.  
She was even more beautiful than that whore Adrianne had been, and Ralof loved spending his evenings chatting with her over a bottle of Vilod's special juniper berry mead.  
One day she didn't show up to the tavern though, and he never saw her again. Apparently she had run off with some man named Hadvar.  
Ralof knew that he just wouldn't make it in Helgen, so he decided that he had finally better head to Windhelm. He had only spent a year in Helgen, but when Karita disappeared he had lost hope of starting over. He knew that he was destined for one thing; to fight the Imperials.  
The first few years he was in the war were a bit rocky; he didn't really know much about handling weapons, as his parents had been fairly peaceful people. But Ralof learned quickly; he had a bit of a knack for killing things. What with his newly developed muscles, he could plow through a skull with ease using his steel warhammer.  
The man who oversaw most of the skirmishes and battles, Galmar Stone-Fist, absolutely detested Ralof. He somehow found a way to always point out what Ralof was doing wrong, and he never appreciated the help that Ralof provided. Galmar would smack Ralof around like a sack of flour, and Ralof just had to take it because Galmar was his superior. He knew that he could punch Galmar's lights out, but he didn't want to risk the consequences.  
One day Ralof had been beaten to the point of near unconsciousness, and he decided that enough was enough. The next day, when Galmar started on his rant of how stupid and pathetic Ralof was, he told Galmar to just shut up already. Galmar had looked so infuriated that Ralof wondered if what he was about to do was a good idea.  
Galmar slammed Ralof against the wall, but Ralof shoved back. This startled Galmar, and he staggered backwards. Ralof took this chance to smash his fist into Galmar's face, and Galmar recoiled. His head hit the table in the middle of the room, and he collapsed. Ralof had told him to leave him alone from then on, and Galmar did.  
Ralof had spent as much time as possible in skirmishes and battles in order to avoid Galmar. He knew that fighting Galmar had been a mistake, but all those years of blacksmithing and millwork had payed off. He wasn't just going to let Galmar kill him, after all he'd done to survive.  
Before the execution at Helgen, Ralof had been traveling with Ulfric and several other soldiers. They were passing through Ivarstead when an Imperial ambush captured them, along with two thieves who were thought to be part of the soldier's ranks. The thieves both seemed to think they had been arrested for other reasons; pickpocketing and petty thievery. Ralof knew that something was off, though, because the Imperials had captured Ulfric Stormcloak, and he doubted that they would put him in some jail rather than killing him.  
Ralof had been seated across from a dangerous looking woman clad in thick, brown leather armor with many pockets and buckles. Her face was hidden in shadow, but a few strands of jet black hair had escaped from the hood and were floating in the breeze. She was beautiful, from what he could see, but he knew better than to dabble with the Thieves Guild. They had had presence enough in Riften to teach him that they were not to be trifled with.  
The woman had been staring at him with icy hatred in her eyes practically the whole drive as he rambled on about his past. He knew nobody was listening to him, but it had felt good to at least pretend that he actually had friends; that the people around him actually cared about what he had gone through and who he had lost and all of the things that had kept him alive. But deep down he knew that nobody cared. Nobody needed him or wanted him, and nobody ever would. He was only 29 and he was going to die alone.

And now here he stood; alone again, with no friends, family, or lovers at his side. Before him were the great doors to the Palace of the Kings, and he knew that if he entered, he may never see the people he cared for ever again. But he couldn't jeopardize the safety of Gerdur or Aliciana. That was the extent of his selfish natures. He could not put what little family he had in a position of danger.

He took a deep breath as his hand connected with the cold, rusty handle of the door. He pushed it open and stepped inside.


	14. The Market

I arrived at the market at 7 in the morning, an hour before most shopkeepers would show up to their stalls. I saw Brynjolf from halfway across the city; his red hair was so bright and obvious that I was surprised he didn't wear a hood to protect his identity or something. When he approached me, I noted that rather than wearing his guild armor, he was dressed in a very nice, expensive-looking tunic, which was a rich royal blue. He set a few potions on the tabletop of one of the wooden stalls, and it stirred a memory. Potions...  
"Wait, you're that guy that I saw the first time I came here! Ralof told me you never sold a real potion in your life."  
He grinned, and I saw a silvery scar just below his left cheekbone that I hadn't noticed before. My curiosity suddenly piqued.   
"You finally remembered, did you, lass? I wondered how long it would take. Yes, when I'm not in the Flagon or doing jobs for Mercer, I'm here selling some... very watered down bone meal and sugar. People will buy anything that comes in a big pink bottle."  
He smirked when he said that, and I felt embarrassed for trying to disregard what Ralof had told me that day. I changed the subject.  
"So, you said you had a job we needed to do before Goldenglow; what is it?"  
Brynjolf's smirk widened to a crooked smile, and he folded his arms and leaned back against the stall.  
"A client of ours want Brand-Shei put out of business-- permanently. They've hired us to put him in jail for the rest of his life."  
Brynjolf glanced up at me and raised his eyebrows.  
"So... What do you need me to do?" I asked, folding my arms and running a hand through my hair.  
"I'll create a diversion while you steal Madesi's ring. It's in a strongbox under his stall. Then plant it in Brand-Shei's pocket while I talk. I'll end the diversion when you're done, and we'll wait and see what happens."  
"Well... Why don't I just steal the ring right now while there's nobody around? It would be easier..."  
As I spoke, an Argonian man who I presumed to be Madesi sauntered up to a neighboring stall. He set his goods down on the tabletop, and arranged the fine jewelry in a somewhat appealing way. He then eyed Brynjolf and I with a strange curiosity, and I became very nervous that we would be discovered.  
"Then I'll see you there," I said, trying to make our little meeting look less suspicious. "And don't forget!"  
I turned and walked off, and Madesi seemed less curious as to what we were up to, and went back to arranging his wares.  
An hour or so later, the market was bustling with people. Brand-Shei had arrived and set up, and Brynjolf was getting antsy as he waited for me. He kept pacing back and forth, and scanning the crowd repeatedly. I stood from the bench I had been occupying, and Brynjolf noticed immediately. I nodded very subtly.  
Gather round, everyone!" He shouted. "I have something that demands your immediate attention!"  
This was his distraction. Everyone was shifting their attention to him, and I knew that this was my chance. As soon as Madesi left his stall, I made sure nobody saw me as I ducked behind it and opened the sliding doors that concealed the strongbox. I picked the lock with ease and sifted through the abundant coin and jewelry within the strongbox, tucking away most of it in the many pockets of my new cuirass. I located the ring, which was nothing more than a plain silver band, and held it in my palm as I scanned the crowd for Brand-Shei, the dark elf.   
He was sitting on a crate near his stand, staring with disgust at Brynjolf. I pushed through the crowd surrounding Brynjolf and casually sauntered over to him. I observed Brynjolf's diversion for a moment or two, mirroring the expression on the dark elf's face.  
"Wow, do you believe this guy? What a fake."  
Brand-Shei looked up at me and smirked. He shifted uncomfortably on the crate he sat upon, squinting at me and smiling.  
"I've been working in a stall right next to him for 3 years, and I still don't even know his name. He's a strange man, I'll give him that, but I wouldn't label him a fake. I'm sure his potions are real, I just want to figure out how he markets them so well."  
I tried not to laugh. Whatever Brynjolf was selling these people, they sure bought it. I made a mental note to compliment his silver tongue.  
I took a seat next to Brand-Shei, pretending to listen to Whatever Brynjolf was saying. Brand-Shei looked totally engrossed in it, and I took the opportunity to slyly drop the ring into the pocket of his ragged trousers.  
A few minutes later I caught Brynjolf's eye, nodding subtly. He wrapped up the distraction, sold a few more shitty potions, and then cleaned up his stall and left. I saw him duck into the Bee and Barb, and guessed he wanted me to do the same.  
Brand-Shei turned to me and said, "He is a strange man, that one. I don't quite understand his sales tactics; they definitely work, or he'd have found something else to try by now." He sauntered back over to his stall, shaking his head slowly. He looked as though he were trying to solve a Dwemer puzzle or something-- there was a wrinkle between his brows, and his expression was distant and confused.  
I scanned the market for Madesi, and saw that he had nearly made it back to his stand. I had left the sliding doors open to make sure he noticed that his strongbox had been emptied, and I knew that if I was seen anywhere in the vicinity when he made that discovery, I would surely be caught and thrown in jail.  
I sauntered over to the Bee and Barb, which was near the market, and ducked inside just as I heard the words, "Oi, someone's been through my strongbox!"  
I let the door fall shut behind me, and as I turned to look around the room, I felt a hand clap down on my shoulder.  
"Nice job, lass. That went better than I expected. I never would have thought of planting the ring on someone while engaged in conversation; that was clever."  
It was Brynjolf.  
"Gods! How many times are you going to sneak up on me like that?"  
"Ha! I figured you could use a little scare after the job you just completed. Besides, what did you expect? We're thieves, after all."  
His hand fell from my shoulder and he ran it through his auburn hair as his eyebrows knitted together.  
"We probably better wait in here for a while until the situation dies down out there," he said, peeking out of a small hole in the wall at the scene outside.  
"Looks like they already caught Brand-Shei-- we might be able to leave early after all." He smirked again, then beckoned for me to follow him into another room upstairs.  
I tagged along, trying not to trip on the uneven stairs that led to the upper story of the building. The stairwell opened up into a small hallway with a door on each wall, and a table and chairs were tucked up against a foggy window. Brynjolf took a seat at the table, and gestured for me to do the same.  
The chair was dry and splintered, but it was better than standing. I looked up at Brynjolf, and saw him running a hand through his hair again. He looked... Tired. Like he hadn't slept in days. His eyes were lined by dark circles, and his usual smirk had been replaced with a frown. He saw me staring at him and tried to perk back up.  
"So, we need a plan for Goldenglow," he started, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. A stray piece of auburn hair fell across his forehead as he did so, and his eyes flashed with irritation in the dim light filtering in through the window.  
"Well... I was thinking that we should just get in, take whatever objects of value immediately grab our attention, find he key to Aringoth's safe, empty said safe, and get out. I can sling a few fire bolts at the beehives before we make our way back to the city. If we have any problems along the way, I'm sure we can resolve them in the heat of the moment." I smiled at Brynjolf, and he looked perplexed.  
"You literally made that sound like a walk in the park, lass. You're forgetting that there are at least a dozen mercenaries guarding the place, and that Aringoth keeps the only copy of his key on his person at all times."  
"Eh... I'm sure we can handle a few sellswords and a minor pickpocketing job. It'll be a breeze!" I laughed. I didn't really believe all that, I just wanted to calm my nerves, an ease Brynjolf's mind. He looked so ridiculously stressed about this one little job... It was starting to rub off on me.  
Brynjolf threw his hands in the air, defeated. He looked at me with those bright green eyes, laughing.  
"Whatever you say, lass. I'm just here to make sure you don't die along the way. That would be... difficult to explain to the Gray Fox."  
I rolled my eyes and stood up, peeking out the window. The market was empty; Brand-Shei and Madesi were gone, and all of the guards with them.  
I walked towards the stairwell and beckoned for Brynjolf to follow.


End file.
